Boosting
by Dawn FD
Summary: It is the aftermath of the Pandora case. Frank is floundering, Joe is frustrated, Con is on his first case with the agency and partnered with the troublesome Nancy Drew, and Fenton is out of town. HELP!
1. Chapter 1

**This story has been written in it's entirety and will be posted up regularly. So there's no fear of me writing five or six chapters and then disappearing!**

**Note: If you are the type of person who leaves nasty messages in writer's review areas in order to have a bit of sport...don't bother as I won't be responding to you, just deleting. I'm too thick skinned to care about your small minded opinions. Frankly, I wouldn't want you reading my stories in the first place. So in summary = you'll get no satisfaction here, so move along! **

**Note: To the rest of you lovely people...I hope you enjoy! :-)**

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**Boosting - ****Chapter 1**

Frank Hardy heard the gentle knocking at his apartment door and dropped his head, feeling decidedly belligerent. He knew exactly who was going to be on the other side and he just didn't need another verbal wrestling match, not today of all days. Today he wanted to be able to concentrate on one thing and one thing only – getting his life back on track.

He limped to the door and opened up, leaning one palm on the doorframe, not realising that by doing so, he was sending an unconscious message to the person on the other side that they were unwelcome and he didn't want them to enter. As Frank had assumed, when the door was pulled wide, his brother Joe was there with his face forced into the widest and most ridiculous looking grin.

"Bro, you look like the Joker," Frank observed, his mouth kinking up at the one corner, despite the irritation he was feeling.

"Can I come in?" Joe asked.

"You've never needed to ask before," Frank muttered and moved back into the sitting room with his brother dogging his heels. "Why are you here so early this morning?" he asked, turning to find Joe standing so close that he found himself staring straight into his blue eyes. Frank stepped back a distance and dropped his gaze.

"Just doing the whole supportive brother thing—"

"So by 'supportive brother thing', you mean supporting me in my decision to return to work, or as in _don't do it…danger…aaagh!!!_" Frank flapped his hands in the air. "Cause if it's the second one, bro, you'll be wasting your breath, we've had this conversation and I'm not changing my mind."

"Dude, if it's what you want, you know that I'll support you one hundred percent. I want to be sure you realise what you're doing."

"Of course I know what I'm doing, it's not like I've not had plenty of time to make up my mind. Eight weeks is long enough. I need to get back to reality and work."

Joe went and sat down on the sofa and surveyed his brother thoughtfully. "What do mom and dad make of it?"

Frank sighed and slumped down onto the arm of the easy chair – this was going to turn into one of those conversations again, he could sense it brewing. "They're happy whatever I do so long as I'm happy, and before you ask, Nancy's not bothered either way as she works alone. In fact, she'll get to see more of me this way, so there's an added benefit."

"I think you're rushing things, you're burned out, Frank!"

"Yeah I am, totally burned out, and that's the whole point as to why I need to get back to some sense of normality."

"But seeing more of Nan and cultivating a sense of normality can't be the only benefits, surely?"

Frank rolled his eyes heavenwards and left the arm of the seat. He went to the dining table and took up an open portfolio and started sifting through its contents. "Let me show you something, Joe," Frank muttered and lifted out a sheaf of stapled papers and placed it down on the glass top. Joe approached and Frank turned the document towards him and tapped the bottom of the page. "That is another benefit."

Joe looked at what was being pointed at, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "Okay, that salary would be a major benefit, I'll admit, but think of what you're givin' up. Being a detective is the only thing you ever wanted to be. It's your dream, Frank, the thing we've been planning and training for since we were kids. You can't simply turn your back on something like that, chucking all your hard work out of the window – it's in your blood! You won't get the same kind of job satisfaction by pushing a pen around."

"Nice speech, Joe, but you said it yourself, I'm burned out. I don't want to be spending the next however many years looking over my shoulder waiting for the next Pandora to come along; I'd become a liability to the agency, to you. Besides which, I doubt my leg will ever physically recover enough for me to be able to do the job effectively again."

"But the Network have those guys in custody so they won't be able to come after you."

"Yeah, well…that wasn't really the point I was making." Frank started to concentrate on trying to put the document back in the portfolio, but his hands wouldn't obey his command and he nearly folded it in half in his haphazard attempt to stuff it inside – the whole time hoping that his brother would get off the subject of the 'Pandora Posse' as Joe'd started calling them. No such luck—

"Frank, about the Pandora Posse, I wish you'd tell us what happened to them."

"Joe—" Frank said, a warning tone to his voice. He didn't want to have this conversation, not at this juncture. Some things were just too raw.

"At least tell me how the Network ended up capturing them – what'd they do? Shoot 'em out of the sky?"

Frank's eyes zeroed in on the front door, looking for an out. He was starting to feel warm and cornered and Joe was standing between him and his escape route and there was no way he could outrun his brother. He started visualising himself and Joe fighting over the doorknob and squabbling, and then Joe was wrestling and forcing him back into the room to make him talk, and they were actually scrapping and it was getting ugly. "_Uh-oh, I'm going to lose this fight! Joe's gonna beat me—_"

"—Frank?" Joe said in a loud voice, breaking through.

"Uh?" Frank grunted, suddenly realising they'd been standing in silence for quite some time having strange thoughts.

"The Posse_—_?"

"Aw man! Joe, you're driving me nuts – as if I'm not nuts enough already."

"Frank, don't say stuff like that, you're not nuts!"

Frank sat down hard at the table and laced his fingers amongst his dark hair. "Whatever. Look, if it'll shut you up, I'll explain…the Network uncovered who the Posse's double agent was who had infiltrated their organisation. He was going to be the original pilot, but Gray jumped in and did the job for him and flew the gang away and into the Network's hands. Simple as that."

"And you knew all about it before you gave them the dummy memory stick?"

Frank sighed. "Yeah, I knew about it way before. All Gray had to do was await my signal to act and I activated him when I was on my way to get the Posse to release Nancy. Please can we drop it now? I don't want to talk about it any more."

"I suppose, but, wow, dude, you were one wily fox!"

Frank carefully slipped the job description back in his bag and changed the subject. "Anyway, let's face it, it's not like I'll even get the job, they'll most likely laugh me out of the interview, so this is probably a moot subject—"

Joe harrumphed. "You'll ace it, you know you will."

"I don't know anything. All I know is that I've had enough of sleuthing. I can't do it any more, it's not in me, it's gone. I'm hollow, spent, the end. I'm sorry Joe."

Joe changed tack. "Okay, what about this. Don't do anything rash, huh? Use some of the reward money you got from the government to go on vacation. Get out of here, have a change of scenery, grab some sun, do some travelling, have a rethink, take Nancy with you, get _jiggy_ with her – it's not like you can't afford it."

Frank burst out laughing at Joe's tender phrasing of his and Nancy's still burgeoning relationship. It made him feel better. "Look bro, I appreciate what you're tryin' to do, I do. But it's time for me to move on and all you're accomplishing by standing there and haranguing me is to make me late." Frank grabbed his retractable chrome walking stick and shoved it into his bag. "Joe, please accept what's happening would-ya. I know you're disappointed and feel I'm letting you down, but—" Frank left the statement hanging, but knew by Joe's slight tilt of the head that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head.

Joe gave a long sigh. "You've not let me down, I'm worried about you. If nothing else, at least use the walking stick."

"I hate the freakin' thing!"

"I know you do, man, but you need to use it."

"I only have to use it if my knee starts to act up and it's not too bad this morning."

Joe shot him a doubtful look. "Cause the limping – that's a good sign, huh?"

"I promise I'll use it if I need to, deal?" Frank moved towards the door, indicating that he needed to leave. "How did you get here? Need a ride?"

"No, I drove. Thanks though," Joe said, and turned to glance back at his brother before they both left the apartment.

Frank knew what that briefest of looks meant; Joe didn't have to spell it out to him. He was disappointed, and it didn't make Frank feel great. In fact, it made him feel a bit sick. He respected his brother more than anyone, and doing this to him, breaking up the partnership, was eating Frank up inside. It didn't matter that it was for the best, as he'd become a burden to his own brother and to the agency. Joe didn't see it that way yet, but in time, Frank hoped he would. He tried not to look Joe in the eye because he knew that if he did, his resolve would crumble.

Reaching around his brother, Frank hit the elevator call button and started making small talk. "Did Vanessa get out in time to meet Nancy this morning?"

"Up earlier than me, as usual. Said mom had decided to join them as well, so there's almost a crowd."

The elevator arrived and they stepped on and began riding it down to the ground floor.

"Shopping, eh?"

"Woman love it, that's for sure." Joe said, and quickly followed it up with: "Frank, I'm—"

"What, Joe?"

Frank felt Joe touch his shoulder and then he was being turned until they were facing one another. Joe was casting his eye over him thoughtfully.

"What, bro?" Frank prompted.

"—Frank, I'm really gonna…have to fix your tie cause it's not straight." Joe reached up and adjusted the knot for him and then stood back and nodded. "Better." They reached the ground floor and Joe stepped out, leaving Frank to ride the lift down to the basement car lot. "Luck with the interview."

"Thanks Joe. Later."

"Later, dude."

*****

Joe arrived at the agency at the same time as his father, but he was so lost in thought that he didn't even notice that Fenton Hardy was almost at the main door and passed by without even acknowledging his presence. He pulled the door open and stepped through into the hallway, letting it go before Fenton could get all the way through.

"Ouch!" Fenton muttered, catching the door with his elbow. "Hey, Joe. You okay, sport?" Fenton asked, rubbing his arm.

Joe's head snapped around surprised. "Oh! Yeah."

Fenton laughed softly. "A hundred miles away."

The trooped up the stairs together and Fenton let them into the office of the _Hardy, Riley & Sons Detective Agency_. Joe wondered how long it would be before the word _Sons_ lost its second 's'.

Joe looked wistfully at Frank's neat desk, which had remained untouched during his extended absence. It was almost as though no one wanted to taint such a sacred place and even his pens had remained unmolested. There was a light coating of dust across the surface.

Frank hadn't stepped a foot inside the building since he'd been released from the hospital and it left Joe feeling decidedly unsettled. His absence had left a gaping chasm in the organisation that no one seemed to want to acknowledge – illustrated by the fact that Frank's chair hadn't been sat on since that last day he'd picked up, pushed it under his table and left with Joe on their surveillance mission before being simultaneously thrown headfirst into the Pandora case. It was almost as though a huge hole had been ripped from the heart of the place.

Joe made a mental note to spray some polish over Frank's desk later – which was more than he'd do for his own desk.

He turned his attention to switching on his PC but when he sat down, Joe was perturbed that, for the life of him, he couldn't locate his mouse among the debris. It was there somewhere but was hiding itself brilliantly. "Where are you?" he asked aloud, pushing swathes of items around the table. Admitting defeat, he finally picked his garbage basket and starting dropping unwanted junk into it in the assumption that his mouse would turn up under the rubble eventually.

"Joe!" Fenton suddenly shouted out incredulously from the connecting office. "What's the meaning of this?"

Joe left the basket on his chair and headed to see what his father was referring to. "What's what?" he asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

"This?" Fenton asked again holding up a picture frame.

"Don't ask me, it's your photo."

"Yes, it's my picture frame all right, but it doesn't usually contain a grinning picture of Con Riley! The last time I checked, it was a picture of your mother – and don't try giving me your innocent face, it's got your hallmark stamped all over it!"

Joe burst out laughing. "Okay, I can't deny it, it was me. But it's been on your desk for over a day and you've only just noticed it. Call yourself a detective?"

"One of these days Joe, one of these days—"

The main door opened again and Con entered with an armful of bagels and sandwiches.

"What a hero, dude!" Joe said.

Con handed a bagel to Joe before tossing the other towards Fenton, who snatched it cleanly out of the air. "Something weird's happened. I think I saw Frank driving up the street, and get this, he was…wearing a suit!"

"You did see Frank with a suit on. He's got a job interview." Joe said, drawing out the words 'job interview' and wrinkling his nose in distaste. He unwrapped his late breakfast and started closely inspecting its contents.

"Oh I see. I've never seen the kid so spruced up before," Con said and slapped Joe on the shoulder as he went through to the other office to perch on the window ledge. "How's Frank's state of mind?" he asked. "Is he ready to venture out into the big wide-world again?"

"I'm not sure, but he's convinced he's much improved," Fenton answered. "He seems determined that a new job, and one not related to investigative work is the only way forward."

"What do you think?" Con asked.

"Doesn't matter what I think. He's an adult and can make his own decisions."

"It sucks the big one!" Joe spat, in no mood to mince his words like his father was. He picked a piece of tomato out of his bagel and tossed it into the garbage. "I wish he'd come back. I'm fed up with not having my partner and you two are no fun."

"Buddy, I'm hurt!" Con said. "I'm a laugh a minute."

"I think Frank's making a huge mistake and I've told him so." Joe quickly realised he'd said something wrong when there was a heavy pause and Fenton slowly turned to him and cocked a brow.

"Just exactly how did you tell him, and when?" his father asked, testily.

Con started to inspect his feet.

Joe emulated his father by peaking a challenging eyebrow back. "Don't worry Dad, I didn't get all heavy on his ass, I just told it like it was. Saw him this morning actually—"

"This morning!!!" Fenton gasped. "You had a conversation with Frank this morning, knowing he had a job interview? Joe, you have all the tact of a baseball bat!"

"Don't sweat it, I didn't send him to it all riled up or anything. I even straightened his tie."

"There are other, more subtle ways of dealing with this that don't involve verbally battering away at him you know, son."

"Such as?"

"Use your imagination. Go and talk to Nancy, swap notes, maybe between you, you can both come up with a course of action. Think outside the box."

Joe leaned back against his desk and started to munch on his bagel as he mulled over his father's advice. "Yeah, thanks Dad, I'll get onto that."

He was still considering the subject at hand, when Con finally moved and turned to pick up the other half of his sandwich, catching sight of something. Joe secretly smiled as Con said: "What on earth—?" and leaned forward to pick up a photo frame from his desk. "Where did this come from?"

"A 'welcome to the office' present," Joe said.

Con gazed back at him with a look of blank incredulity.

"—And you're welcome!" Joe sarcasmed, upon failing to receive a 'thank you'.

"Did you also put the picture of Fenton in it?"

"Can I be held to blame if you two have your own brand of special love?"

Fenton turned his own photo frame around so Con could see its replacement picture and despite themselves, they both started chortling. Then Fenton's phone rang, so he answered it and all three of them decided to get down to work.

Joe returned to his desk to resume his clear out and rummaging. He was starting to get fairly worked up over the location of the errant cordless mouse until he finally slid open his drawer and there it was, shut inside and shoved right to the back under an old sports magazine. "Huh?" he wondered, lifting it out. A muffled snigger made him look up to find the other two men had been watching him.

"Two can play at the practical jokes, Joe," Con said and leaned across his desk and exchanged a hearty high-five with Fenton. "Nice one, Flash. Told you I'd get him to tidy up his desk!"

"Hey—" Joe objected.

Fenton laughed. "Thanks Zarkof." Fenton said in return. "I've been trying to get him to clean up his act for the last six months."

Con sniggered again. "You don't share an office full of cops for so many years without picking up an odd trick or two." He tipped his thumb in Joe's direction. "The boy's small fry in comparison."

Joe grumbled. "This means war!"

"Bring it on—"

Slumping back in his chair, Joe ignored the older men still sharing a laugh at his expense and started working on a press release, which was to announce Con's change of job role from the _Bayport Police Department_ to the _Hardy,_ _Riley & Sons Detective Agency_. He knew that if he pitched it at the right level, a couple of the local papers would pick up on it, and before long, he'd have another press cutting or two for the album and some free advertising.

It had been a bit of a coup-d'état on Fenton's part, finally getting Con to accept the partnership. Con Riley was a popular public figure within Bayport, and coupled with his experience and history within the police force as a Lieutenant, Joe was confident that he could pull in some extra work by mentioning that he was now with them.

While he was busy doing that, though, Joe was allowing his mind to drift along with the Frank problem, and suddenly was hit with a burst of inspiration after revisiting the conversation he'd had with his brother earlier that morning. He grabbed the phone and put a call through to Nancy Drew who agreed to meet him at a local eatery for a late lunch.

"I gotta go," Joe called out to the other two and started to switch off his computer.

"Where're you going?" Fenton asked.

"Taking your advice," Joe answered. "Meeting with Nancy."

Fenton's phone started to ring and he answered it as Joe was reaching for his jacket and opening the door. "See you later," Joe called out and shot through.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for you encouragingly kind words. On with the story. :-)**

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Boosting - Chapter 2

Joe stopped in front of the window of the _Café Spot_ and peered inside, spotting Nancy Drew on the far side. She saw him looking back and briefly waved so he pushed through the door and picked his way through the tables and sofas until he reached her. Almost as soon as he was within listening distance, Nancy said quickly and in a low voice: "Sorry Joe, I tried to talk her out of it, but—" and opened up her hands helplessly.

"What do you mean, talk who out of what?"

"Hello, sweetheart," said a voice at his shoulder and he turned to receive a kiss on the cheek.

"Mom?" He watched in amazement as his mother gracefully balanced a tray on the edge of the table and started unloading cups of coffee. Joe saw that there were four steaming cups, but of course, only three people currently in attendance. "What's going on?" he asked, thoroughly confused.

"I'm as much in the dark as you are," said another voice at his shoulder, but gruffer this time.

Joe turned again to find his father standing on the other side of him.

"Couldn't catch up with you, you walk fast, son."

"Huh?" Joe was spinning so much from one person's face to the other that he was getting dizzy!

"Hello, Laura – looking gorgeous, as usual," Fenton said to his wife and gave her a kiss and then turned to the other lady in the group. "Hi Nancy."

"Hi," Nancy responded dryly, looking through him and out of the window.

"Sit down, Joe," Laura ordered and settled herself down along with Fenton who started immediately to stir two sugars in his cappuccino and then began going safari through the froth searching for the coffee segment of the beverage and frowning.

"What's happening?" Joe turned to Nancy helplessly.

Nancy pursed her lips and pushed Joe's chair creakingly out with her toe. "All will become clear."

But Joe could tell by her demeanour that she wasn't particularly relaxed. Her own chair was pushed back some distance from the table, as good as blocking the walkway, and she was hugging her cup closely to herself.

"Sit down, Joe," Laura ordered again. "We need to talk to you."

"What is this? A family intervention?" Joe asked and smiled.

Laura laughed quietly. "Kind of—" she admitted.

Joe's smile dropped and Nancy took to looking towards the window again.

"—But not you, so don't look so startled." Laura quickly followed-up.

"Oh," Joe spluttered in relief, and then: "Ohh, Frank you mean?"

"Exactly, but family intervention is perhaps too strong a term," Laura said and pushed a cup in front of Joe as he finally sat down. "More a family meeting. I overheard your conversation with Nancy and thought we should all have a chat about things while your brother's otherwise occupied."

"I'm not happy about this," Nancy suddenly cut in and stealing their combined attentions away. "I don't like going behind his back, not to this extent. A chat with Joe is one thing; a whole family discussion without his knowledge is huge. I shouldn't be here, I'm not one of the family, any more than Vanessa is."

Laura leaned across and took her hand. "If this is too uncomfortable for you, honey, you don't have to stay, but we'd appreciate your input. You've spent far more time with Frank than any of us have since he's been out of hospital. He's been like a hermit!"

Nancy took a drink of her coffee and regarded Laura over her cup. But she didn't move, so Joe took it that she was weighing up her options. After another couple of sips, Nancy said. "Frank won't thank me for being here, he trusts me and I'd hate to destroy that. If he thought I was plotting behind his back…well, I'd hate to think what he'd do. Probably dump me."

"He wouldn't do that; he adores you." Laura assured her.

"Wouldn't he?" Nancy asked. "He's on the edge. It wouldn't take much of a shove. He's not the same Frank and sometimes I worry that he's looking for an excuse to break ties. Said to me not long ago that he thinks he's too dangerous to be around and that I should find myself someone with _normal_ _problems_."

Laura and Fenton exchanged a look. "He doesn't need to know about this meeting," Laura said.

Nancy conceded the point by shuffling her seat in toward the table.

"What did you mean when you said _he's on the edge_?" Joe asked, once Nancy had settled down again.

Nancy narrowed her eyes, contemplating her answer. "Well, put it like this. He's not exactly as recovered, as he'd like us to believe. He tells me he's been talking to his therapist, but I'm not sure how many appointments he's actually been to."

"What makes you say that?" Laura asked.

"Because I suspected as much, so I followed him one day and he didn't go. Went to the movies instead."

"Babe, are you kidding? Why would he do that?" Joe asked, aghast.

Nancy raised her shoulders and shook her head.

"That Pandora case can't have had that much of an effect on the Frankster, surely? It's not like we haven't faced stuff like that in the past." Joe observed.

"Joseph, stop deluding yourself!" Nancy exclaimed in disbelief. "Frank totally zoned out for three days – how much more of an effect do you think it needed to have had? And don't even get me started on the temporary agoraphobia."

Fenton cut in. "And also, Joe, what you're discounting is the fact that Frank faced this one alone. He let you and Nancy help, but only on the fringes and only when he had no other choice. And he didn't let any of us in on the whole plan, not even Nancy. A lot of what happened, Frank put into play himself in the hope that all the major elements would drop into place. Luckily most did, but some went badly wrong."

Joe looked across at his father as Fenton continued.

"He especially didn't bargain on you literally having to climb up to the roof to help him, which caused the haemorrhaging to the wound – and to hear Con yelling it up the stairwell like he did, well...you didn't see Frank's face. It's not an experience I'll ever wish to repeat."

Unknowingly, Joe's hand strayed to area where he been shot and he rubbed lightly.

Nancy next cut in. "Frank believes that, but for his own actions, none of it would have happened. But once he'd started the ball rolling, he couldn't stop it. I think morally, he felt he had to see it through to the end – although why he'd want to take it to the lengths he did makes little sense to me."

"That's probably my fault," Fenton admitted. "I instilled an attitude in the boys that once they start something, they should take responsibility and finish it, no matter what it is."

"Maybe so, and that's a commendable trait to drum into them, but it resulted in Frank being forced into taking certain actions. And now it seems he can't bring himself to seek out our help, that it would be a liberty to ask for it from the very people he caused hurt to."

Fenton opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind and stared down guiltily into his cup instead.

"Oh, I see," said Laura quietly and took her husband's hand under the table. "You're very candid, Nancy," she remarked.

"I tend to speak my mind. It's my own undoing." Nancy blushed slightly and started fiddling with a bit of skin next to one of her nails. "Everything keeps comin' out of my mouth wrong. I'm frightened Frank's slipping through my fingers and there's nothing I can do to stop the rot." She glanced up at Fenton momentarily. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologise."

Nancy wrinkled her nose. "It was no one's fault that Frank took it to the extremes. It was the way Frank's mind was working, and I think still is. Everything is skewed and exaggerated. His sense of perspective is all out of whack." Nancy stopped and began chewing and that irritating slither of cuticle making her finger bleed. She quickly rubbed away the little bead of red with her thumb and pushed her hand into her lap.

It seemed to Joe that she was attempting clumsily to gloss over her previous harshly worded observation. So he nudged his father and galloped gallantly to her rescue: "Don't worry, Nan, I appreciate your straightness. We need to be open about this and not beat around the bush."

"Quite." Fenton agreed, catching Nancy's eye and giving her a wink.

There was a lull in the proceedings while everyone mulled over what had been said. Eventually Joe spoke up again. "So, Nan, do you think Frank's change of career choice is his way of taking himself completely out of the picture?"

"I think that's the most likely reason. It's his way of further avoiding having to deal with it."

"Does he at least talk things through with you?" Fenton asked Nancy.

"Rarely."

"Only when he's cornered, and even then it's brief." Joe agreed. He put down his empty cup and leaned forward. "But I don't get it, Frank was so great with me when Iola was killed, so why isn't he following his own advice?"

Silence from everyone – no one had the first clue as to why the usually intelligent and open Frank would allow himself to become so tightly screwed down. Joe was right; Frank had been a strong advocate of airing feelings openly when Joe had lost his girlfriend to the car bomb, but he was doing the opposite for himself.

"Yes. Frank handled that situation like a champ," Fenton agreed.

"It's like I said, his sense of perspective is out of kilter," Nancy said. "So what are we going to do? We can't leave him to drift or we'll lose him completely. I know the old Frank will probably never return, but a less traumatised version of him would be nice to have."

"Well – I did have one idea. I know you don't ride motorcycles, Dad, but can Con?" Joe asked.

"I think he can," Fenton answered, and, by way of explanation to Nancy at her surprised expression: "I can ride one, but I hate the things, don't feel safe on 'em. I prefer having something between the rock hardness of a road surface and my soft body. Why, the strange question, Son?"

So Joe began to explain his idea and leaned his elbows on the table. For once, Laura didn't berate him for his poor table manners.

*****

"Do you think you've remembered everything?" Frank asked as Nancy lugged her suitcase into the hallway, pushing his hands away when he automatically reached out to help.

"Yes, I think so. Anything I've left behind can stay here until I come back." Nancy caught an expression on Frank's face that he quickly tried to hide, so she stepped forward and cupped the side of his face. "Listen to me, I won't be gone long. From what was said on the phone yesterday, it'll be a quick case, just a few days."

"I know," Frank said and put his arms about her middle to pull her close. "I'm gonna miss you is all. Got used to having you around." He rested his cheek on the top of her head. "This place will seem empty without you here."

Nancy pulled back and smiled up at him. "It had to happen eventually. I can't keep on putting everything on hold, as much as I'd like to. You'll be okay. Maybe you'll hear something about that job and I'll come back to a celebration."

"Doubt it, Drew. If I was going to hear anything, I would have done by now – no big deal, I can always put it down to experience."

"That's the spirit!" The intercom buzzed so Nancy went to answer it. Seconds later she was back. "That's my cab, I've got to go."

"Are you sure you don't want me to drop you off?"

"No, I told you, Joe's coming over, he phoned this morning."

"I can always put Joe off—"

"—Oh no you don't, Hardy, you've been doing too much of that lately, why do you think he phoned me?" Nancy pulled her jacket on and grabbed her suitcase. "Can you get the door for me?"

Frank opened the front door and waited while Nancy carried her luggage through to the elevator before going ahead to press the call button, his hand immediately then straying to her hair, his fingers sweeping down its full length. "I don't want you to go." He was gazing intensely at her.

"Sorry," Nancy said and reached up to give him a kiss. "I'll be back soon, I promise."

"I've heard that line before—" Frank muttered despondently as the doors slid open.

Nancy backed into the lift, selected ground floor, and smiled at him. "Not from me you haven't." She reached forward to take his hand; lightly cradling it until the lift door started to slide and then letting him go. It wasn't until the door was almost all the way across that Frank's arm suddenly shot into the lessening gap, causing the doors to jerk violently open again. He stepped up to her and scooped her into another all enveloping embrace nearly lifting her off her feet. Eventually, and with a large shaky breath, Frank let her go for the final time and hobbled back out to allow the doors to shut fully.

Before the elevator began to descend, she watched Frank at the window, smiling back, unable to hide his lost expression this time. She just had enough time to kiss her palm before making a throwing action at him. He pretended to catch the kiss and pulled it into his chest.

"Crap, and loads of it!" she muttered as his image finally slid out of view. She leaned back against the wall of the elevator and swallowed, successfully willing the burgeoning tears away. When the lift hit the ground floor, she wasn't surprised to find Vanessa and Joe waiting for her on the other side.

"How was it?" Vanessa asked sympathetically as Joe took her bag.

"Horrible." Nancy gave Joe a light shove to his shoulder. "I hate you, Joseph Hardy. This had better work, or I'll never forgive you for making me do that!"

"Is he okay?" Joe asked, concerned.

"No."

Joe dropped the bag and jumped straight into the elevator.

It was obvious to Nancy that Joe was planning on riding it straight back up to his brother's apartment, which would prove the undoing of the entire arrangement if she allowed him, so she immediately set her hand against the open-door button to prevent it moving and gave him a hard look. "Come out Joe. If you want this plan to work, you need to give it a while before you go up or Frank will suss it straight away."

Joe's finger was raised to the fourth floor button, but luckily, he'd stopped himself in time. His hand curled into a tight ball and he leaned it alongside the switch pad. "Okay, you're right. Dammit!"


	3. Chapter 3

**Frankette said: **"…While I agree to Nancy it's not right to do such a thing behind Frank's back but I think Laura didn't really have a choice coz with his current mental condition, Frank would have freaked out. Anyways, good chapter as always."

**Thank you. I don't think Nancy ended up with any choice. Laura wasn't going to accept a 'no' from her - and you don't say no to your boyfriend's mom, do you? LOL And you're right, Frank would've probably freaked out. :-)**

**Watcher said: **"Uh oh! I wonder what Mr. Joseph Hardy has thought up...What ever it is, I know it's going to be good. :) Nice chapter I really like where this is going! :)..."

**Thank you too! You'll find out what Joe has in store in this chapter. Hope you enjoy. :-)**

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Boosting - Chapter 3

Joe stepped up to Frank's apartment and knocked. Looking up at the numbers screwed to the wooden door, he stood and waited.

He'd just seen Nancy and his girlfriend back to Vanessa's car where it had been parked on the opposite side of the building to where Frank's apartment was situated so they couldn't be overlooked from his windows.

"Hopefully we'll see you in a few days," Vanessa had said, giving him a kiss.

"—Or in about an hour!" Nancy called out from the passenger seat.

Joe dipped down to talk at her and lifted an eyebrow. "No, I'll definitely be seeing you in a few days. I'm determined." And to demonstrate how single minded he was being, he turned over his houseboat keys to Nancy. "Look after Rufus for me. Bye Nan."

"Bye Joe."

And then he'd made his way down into the basement to check Con was okay to wait a little bit longer before riding the elevator up.

Joe found he had to knock on Frank's door three times before he got any sort of a response and the last time he'd rapped hard and it had stung his knuckles. He was just starting to search his pockets for the spare key when Frank eventually opened up, walking back into the sitting room before Joe had even put a foot over the threshold and waving vaguely over his shoulder. "Hi Joe. Come join."

Joe followed after him and entered to find his brother already slumped down on his sofa, a beer bottle in his hand and a game on the TV blaring out. The sight was unsettling. "Bit early for that, isn't it, dude?"

Frank looked down to see what Joe was referring to and lifted one side of his mouth. "Nah, non-alcoholic – see?" he held up the bottle so Joe could see the label. "Just like the taste. So what digs, Nan said you wanted to see me about something important?"

"Yeah, I do." Joe went back out into hallway and lifted Frank's coat down off its hook and then returned to sling it at him.

Frank automatically caught it and watched nonplussed as Joe strode across the room to turn off his TV. "Erm, what are you doing, bro? I was watching that!" Frank objected, pointing to the television with the bottle.

"Not any more. Come with me, Dude," Joe ordered and headed for the front door again, returning to stick his head around the door seconds later when Frank made little effort to get up. "C'mon!"

Finally setting the bottle aside, Frank clambered up from the seat and accompanied his brother out of the apartment and to the elevator, which was still waiting on his floor. Joe kept his hand against the door until Frank had locked up and let it go as Frank joined him, pressing for the parking garage.

"You're walking better today, dude." Joe observed.

"It's improving a little every day. Nan's been taking me swimming, which has been working much better than the physiotherapy. Where are you taking me, bro?"

"Down to the parking garage."

"What for?"

"You'll see," Joe said, watching the floor numbers ticking down on the readout above the door until they arrived at the parking level.

The door slid open and Joe allowed Frank to exit the elevator first. He watched as Frank froze in surprise at seeing Con leaning up against a high performance motorcycle that was parked up alongside his own convertible.

"Con?! Why didn't you come up to the apartment if you wanted to see me?"

"That's not why I'm here, kiddo," Con answered and pushed himself away from the bike and approached. He put his hand out and Frank clasped it and held on, his other hand moving to grip around his wrist.

"I'm sorry I haven't been to see you properly," Frank said awkwardly. "I still haven't thanked you for what you did when…you know, it was above and beyond."

Con caught Joe's eye for an instant and seemed to make an effort to brush away Frank's embarrassed apology with a slap against the top of his arm. "Don't worry, I know things haven't been great, and you've not long been up on your feet again."

"Yeah, well…nevertheless. Thank's Con – nice machine, by the way." Frank said and let go of his hand. He turned back to Joe. "Okay, bro, what's the big idea with dragging me down here?" he asked.

Joe grinned and indicated with his chin towards the black and red motorcycle.

Frank looked back at the bike. "What? Am I supposed to be seeing something other than Con's ride?" he asked.

"That isn't my ride," Con corrected. "I'm the delivery guy. I think it's yours."

Joe could see that Frank was perplexed. "What do you mean?" he asked.

With Frank's face turned away, Joe quickly took something from his pocket and held it up, so that when Frank turned back to him, he was dangling a set of ignition keys right in front of his brother's face.

The penny finally dropped. "You're kidding, right?" Frank asked.

"Catch," Joe said, and tossed the keys into his brother's palm.

Frank turned in confusion to Con who was nodding and grinning. "But this is crazy! Joe, you can't afford it."

"I can actually. I got a quarter of the reward money, remember, so can treat my only brother, can't I?"

"This is really my bike?" Frank asked, allowing himself the sense of security to approach it. He walked around it, admiring its sleek lines and shiny chrome. He put his hand around one of the grips and swept the other along the saddle. "So, you bought me a bike?" he asked again for confirmation. "Why?"

"Yeah, I bought you a bike, dude. But you've got to earn it though."

Frank paused mid stroke. "Ah…I knew there'd be a catch. If this is about work—"

"No, nothing like that!" Joe interjected quickly. "Dad's forcing me to take some time off to recuperate and I thought it might be cool if we both took off somewhere. In fact, I already booked a place, a cabin."

"Like old times—" Frank said quietly and slowly grinned, the smile actually reaching his eyes for once. "Yeah, I'd like that." He rejoined his brother to embrace and slap him on the back. "I'd like that a lot!"

"Look, I even brought a friend with me," Joe said and pulled Frank around to the other side of the red convertible to show him another hidden bike, but a entirely black one this time. "See, all packed up and ready to rock 'n' roll."

"You're ready to go right now? But Joe, that's way too short notice, I can't simply—"

Joe immediately grabbed Frank by arm and shot Con a look. He knew that this was the moment that if he gave his bother any thinking time, the whole plan would fall apart. "—Yeah you can, c'mon on Frank," he interrupted. "Nan told me she's going to be away, so chuck a few things in the saddlebags and let's free-style it. We'll buy as we need. The timing was perfect, it's almost like you planned it – were you talking to dad by any chance? You're a life saver, bro, what would I do without you?"

"But—"

"—Good for you, Frank!" Con said, jumping in to assist with hustling Frank towards the elevator and back up his apartment to pack. He continued to jabber with Joe non-stop so Frank couldn't get another word in edgewise.

*****

Con walked into the office to find Fenton seated at his desk, concentrating hard on his screen. He only looked up once Con had reached the doorway. "Did it work?" he asked.

"Yep, they drove off together about an hour ago. Joe ended up with Frank convinced it was almost all his idea – I'm still not sure how your youngest managed that!" He went to sit down at his desk. "Has Joe always been able to wrap Frank around his little finger?"

"Pretty much."

"Joe said something that I didn't know about though. Said he'd got some sort of reward? What did he mean, any idea?"

"Frank didn't know it, but there was some sort of payment coming his way for dealing with the whole Pandora thing. Apparently, even though it was destroyed in the end, the government still felt that they'd had a lucky escape so they turned it over to him anyway. But they only gave him half of it and shared the other two quarters between Joe and Nancy."

"No wonder Nancy has been able to stay away from work for so long and Frank was able to sort out his trashed apartment."

"It was a surprising amount of money." Fenton agreed and raised himself.

Con watched as his friend walked slightly stiffly to the kettle, picked up the pot and shook it to check it had sufficient water before switching it on to boil. Even though going about a mundane job, Con could tell instantly by the way he was picking at his eyebrow that there was something on Fenton's mind he wanted off his chest. So he waited.

Eventually, Fenton carried on talking half over his shoulder. "Frank getting that money is a bit of a relief actually. It'll make it easier on one level if we have to let him go and start looking for a replacement for Joe—"

"—Whoa there, partner…you're not serious!?" Con interrupted, shocked. "For one, Frank is brilliant at his job and not easily replaced, and for two, if you set Frank loose, Joe'll be hot on his heels. He'll never work with anyone else; he's as loyal as a puppy. This thing with Frank…Fen…you've gotta know it's a temporary glitch? Frank'll get over this and he'll be back, give him time. You know that as well as anybody!"

Fenton grimaced and rubbed hard between his eyes. "I know, I know! I don't want to have to accept it either, God knows I don't, but it's a possibility that we have to accept. We're running a business here at the end of the day. What if Frank's never able to overcome it?" The kettle clicked itself off as it reached boiling point. "Hopefully getting away for a while will do him some good – maybe Joe can beat some sense into him."

"You need to talk to him too, Flash," Con said evenly. "You're doing him a disservice."

"And I will. I just need time to gather my thoughts." Fenton turned his attention to conjuring up two drinks, assaulting two spoonfuls of coffee by dropping them from a great height into each cup. Some of the granules made a bid for freedom by missing entirely and sprinkling themselves across the counter top.

"You need to carefully consider your options, buddy," Con said. "Or you could end up making the biggest mistake of your life – this isn't the time for rash decisions!" he smiled ironically. "Joe and Frank would probably end up setting themselves up in direct competition, get Nancy Drew on board, and kick our butts all the way to the unemployment line!"

The phone on Fenton's desk began to ring, so Fenton quickly stirred the coffees, dumped Con's in his hands and moved to his desk to grab the receiver. "Hardy, Riley & Sons…yes of course I remember you – how the hell are you?" he went quiet and started to listen intently. "Aw, Jeeze no!" he groaned and caught Con's eye, slowly shutting his own in exasperation.

Con sat back and started quickly gulping his drink. He sensed that if he didn't hurry up with this particular cup of coffee, than it would go half drunk and he hated wasting good caffeine.

Fenton continued: "Are you sure, because he might have left it with a friend for safe keeping, he does do that sometimes…oh I see, that's pretty much clear cut." He sighed deeply. "Yes, okay, I'm on my way," he replaced the handset and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. "Dammit all! I don't believe it – this is really helping my headache!"

"What's wrong?"

"Frank's car's been stolen from its parking space – how much more bad luck? If it was Joe's car…_oh well, it's a banger, good luck to 'em_…but Frank's is his pride and joy and not easily replaced."

"But it was there when we left an hour ago, how can it have been boosted so quickly?"

"God knows! That was your Officer Anderson on the phone. He's waiting for me down at Frank's apartment building." He started to quickly pull his jacket on.

"James Anderson isn't my officer any more," Con corrected him. "Wait up, I'm comin' with you."

*****

Fenton pulled up outside of Frank's apartment building and exited with Con to enter the parking bays on the underground level. Sure enough, they could see immediately that Frank's parking space was devoid of its red convertible.

They could also see Officer Anderson standing there in uniform, shuffling. He raised a palm in greeting and grinned broadly at Con, looking him up and down. "Hi ex-Lieutenant. How's retirement grabbing ya? Enjoying the pipe and slippers?"

"Smart ass!" Con muttered to Fenton. "Anderson, enough of the cheap jibes. What's happened to Frank's car?"

"What's the story, Anderson?" Fenton asked, catching Con's eye and rolling his eyes up to the sky.

"Come, on, I'll show you." Anderson turned red faced, obviously having spotted Fenton's face pulling, and led them towards the security kiosk and tapped on the side door. A short man in a security man's uniform almost immediately opened up.

"I take it you're Mr Hardy?" he said and then addressed Con. "Sorry, it's so obvious, his son looks just like him."

"Good looking devil, ain't he?" Fenton quipped, and smirked. He couldn't resist it, despite the reason for them being there.

The security guard laughed and opened the door wider. "C'mon in and I'll show you the CCTV footage we got of Frank's car being taken. It was slickly done!"

They all crowded into the small booth and looked up at the monitor while the security guard started the disc running. As it began, the clock in the corner of the screen indicated that the footage was taken approximately half an hour after Frank and Joe had left on their bikes. A man was seen walking up to the car. He was wearing jeans and a dark jacket and white sneakers. On his head he wore a cap that was obscuring his face totally from the camera. He went straight to Frank's car, bent and pushed something into the lock. He jerked his arm a couple of times and the door opened. With one quick look over his shoulder, he got in, turned the ignition over, pulled out of the space and was gone.

"Wow…that was slick!" Con muttered.

"Yes it was," Fenton agreed suspiciously. He turned to the security guard. "Where were your guys when all this was happening?"

The security guard look sheepish. "Actually, I was on other end of the lot. There was a fracas happening and I went to investigate and deal with it. In retrospect, I think it was a distraction tool in order to take the car easily."

"What sort of fracas?"

"Some people were yelling from the road, causing a disturbance, so I went across to tell them to clear out. By the time I reached them, though, they'd already gone."

"Was there a camera trained on the road?" Con asked.

"No, we only have CCTV within parking lot itself."

Fenton looked across at the other cars through the kiosk window. "Have you had many incidences of cars being taken?"

The man smiled slightly. "That was our first loss in three years. We're good at monitoring visitors and trespassers. Frank had a nice car though, so maybe someone really wanted it."

Fenton nodded. "Can we have a copy of the film?" he asked.

"Yes, I'll burn a copy for you."

"We'll come back and collect it in a while." Fenton turned to address Con. "Let's go up to Frank's apartment. I want to double check no one's broken in again and taken his car key. Seemed a bit of a clean getaway to me."

"Don't read too much into that," Anderson broke in, thumbs tucked into his belt. He stepped up close to Con's shoulder and looked up at him. "Car thieves have got all sorts of gadgets which mean they can boost a car in a matter of seconds. They wouldn't necessarily need the key."

Con sighed. "As much as it pains me to admit it, Anderson's right—"

"—Hey!"

"Sorry Anderson, no offence…they don't need to necessarily take the key, or take the ignition system apart."

"I'd still like to make sure his apartment's okay." Fenton insisted.

"It's your call."

With Officer Anderson dogging Con's heels, they left the parking garage and rode the elevator up to Frank's apartment. Fenton used his spare key to open the front door; a loud beeping began immediately sounding, which was only extinguished upon him entering a code into a little keypad on the wall, disabling the new burglar alarm system.

They all took a quick look in each room, but nothing looked out of place.

"No one's been in here," Fenton decided. "Or the alarm would have been either ringing out or disconnected." He turned and addressed Anderson. "Thanks for phoning. I'll go and get the recording and me and Con can get back to the office."

"Actually," said Anderson. "Chief Collig wants to know if you'll both go and see him. He's got something he wants to discuss with you."

"Oh?" Con asked. "What's that about?"

"Don't ask me, I'm just the messenger. I can give you a lift if you'd like, ex-Lieutenant. In the back of my cruiser…if sitting in the back doesn't make you uncomfortable." Anderson offered and gave him a goofy grin.

"Are you coastin' for a slap?" Con snapped.

Fenton put a restraining hand on his friend's arm. "No, thank you Anderson, I've got my own car here. Now run along, there's a good boy!" he opened the door, pushed Anderson's through it backwards and closed it on his surprised face.

Con sighed. "That kid's got a serious attitude problem, but he's actually good at his job. I think he's hungry to move up the ladder, but he's going about it all the wrong way. He seems to have a worrying lack of respect for his superiors." He folded his arms and tipped his head on one side. "More importantly though, I wonder what _Ming The Merciless_ wants?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Nightwatcher'sunknowngirl said:** "I'm guessing that that's only part of Joe's plan…Also what's up with Frank's car getting carnapped?…"

**Yep, it's only part of Joe's plan – not that everything that is going to happen is what he has in mind! And Frank's car getting stolen? Well, it's a nice car, far too tempting for the bad guys!**

**Thank you to everyone. :-)**

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Boosting - Chapter 4

Frank and Joe were studying a map in the booth that they'd commandeered in the newly discovered diner they'd come across on their new motorcycles. It was a little off the beaten track and it had been found by Joe entirely by accident. He'd spotted it, despite it being hidden slightly from approaching traffic by several overgrown trees.

Rolling his hand at shoulder height, he attracted his brother's attention and pointed at it, then indicated that he was pulling in. Frank drew to a halt beside him and they decided to take a comfort break.

The little restaurant was a converted train car. The outer aspect looked largely unaltered, but the individual compartments inside had long since gone, replaced instead with mock-50s style bench seats and booths. A bar was located at the far end with swivel stools positioned in front. Despite it being largely hidden from view, it was busy with the waitstaff moving quickly between the tables serving as speedily as possible and yelling orders back to the kitchen.

One particular waitress kept pouting and treating the brothers to appreciative glances every time she passed by their table. Frank was steadfastly ignoring her, but Joe was spending the entire time smirking back.

"Concentrate, bro!" Frank finally said and directed his brother's attention back down to the map and ran his fingers along the road they were currently following. "If this is where this cabin is that you rented for us," Frank said. "Then I think we should stick to this road until we get to this turn-off point and we…JOE!!!"

"What?"

"Did you hear a word I said?"

"Dude – pretty girl!" Joe said, in a whining tone and raised his hands.

"Dude – Vanessa Bender!" Frank countered, physically and vocally mimicking his brother so well that Joe belly laughed. "You shouldn't look at girls like that when you've got Vanessa waiting for you at home."

"Okay, you're right. Van knocks the socks off any of the girls in here, anyway."

"Precisely."

"But you've got to understand that you're asking me to fight millions of years of evolution and genetics, it's so hard for me!"

The waitress sashayed up to their table and bent forward a little too far to put their plated burgers down in front of them, right under Joe's nose. "There you go, sweet-stuffs."

Joe automatically took in the view down her gaping top. Frank rolled his eyes and brought his heel back to connect audibly with Joe's shin making him yelp. The waitress immediately left, tossing Frank a disappointed glare.

"That really hurt. "Joe complained, rubbing his leg briskly. "I'm going to get a bruise now."

"Nothing like the extensive contusions you'll sustain if Van finds out what your eyes were feasting on. Here, you can borrow my walking stick," Frank said and shoved it in front of him.

"Man, you are so violent!" Joe complained and moved from his seat to the bench opposite so they could sit face-to-face. His picked up his cheeseburger and bit into it, studying his brother as he chewed. Frank folded up the map and picked up his own burger.

Eventually Joe swallowed and said: "Frank. When you asked me to come and help you with that defibrillator, why didn't you get Nancy to do it?"

Frank immediately dropped his burger back down before he'd even taken a bite. There was quite a long silence before he finally responded. "Well, I guess because I knew you'd been trained on how to use one when you did that course."

"Yeah, that makes sense in one way, but in the other – Nancy must have had that training as well, why didn't you ask her? You took quite a gamble you know. I almost didn't make it up onto that roof at all!"

Frank's gaze shifted down to his burger and he started picking at the bun. "Nan and dad didn't know the layout of the school like you and I didn't want to tell her too much and put her in further danger."

"But you didn't mind putting me in mortal peril, then?" Joe asked, only half joking, but his brother didn't look up to see his smile

Frank flinched like he'd been stung. "Nancy once said something simi—" he started, and caught himself. "I didn't tell you everything either, for exactly the same reason." He was rolling bread into little balls between his fingertips and discarding them at the side of his plate.

"But, man, it was a suicide mission – where was your head at that you'd even contemplate that?"

"—I gotta go to the bathroom," Frank blurted out and quickly left the booth without a backward glance.

"Hey Frank, I—" but it was too late to reel him back in, he'd gone. "Oops," Joe muttered to himself.

He picked up his burger again, took another bite and chomped thoughtfully. He couldn't believe how easily a few carefully worded questions had sent his brother scurrying away. It was transparent just how far Frank still had to come to break free of the mental chains that had been shackling him down for so long.

It was obviously going to be one hell of a job helping him to disentangle himself, especially if he kept on only half answering questions, or avoiding them entirely. Joe suspected he might have to wholly unravel his brother before setting about knitting him back together. But no one knew his brother as well as him and if he couldn't sort out the Frankster, no one else was going to. And he did so revel in a challenge!

*****

It wasn't long before Con was leading Fenton up the concrete steps to the doubled-door entrance of the Bayport Police HQ. Con held the door open and Fenton stepped through and approached the front desk. He noted that near enough all the faces in the open plan office had begun to look up and swivel towards them as they had entered, most lifted a hand, a palm, or at least a smile in greeting at Con who responded in kind.

"Hello Lieutenant!" the Desk Sergeant blurted out in surprise.

"No need for Lieutenant any longer, Benson," Con corrected him. "Con will do. How the devil are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks—Con." he replied, stuttering warily over the name. "What can I do for you today?"

"We've been summoned here. Apparently the Chief wants to see us."

"Take a seat and I'll let him know you're here."

They sat down and waited as Officer Benson called forward to Chief Collig's secretary. After returning the receiver to its cradle, he beckoned for Con and Fenton to return to the desk and asked them to fill out the visitor's log and handed each of them a badge.

"How are your sons?" Benson asked Fenton, who was pinning his pass to his jacket.

"Better thanks, they've gone away for few days together."

"Good for them."

The door beside the front desk opened and he turned to find the imposing, larger than life, razor-haired Chief Collig standing outlined in the doorway. "Hello boys!" he roared. Fenton wondered if Ezra Collig realised how loudly he spoke, or whether he did it for effect.

Collig came forward to shake him by the hand. Fenton hated shaking the Chief's huge hand as his grip was one of painful iron, but he still put his palm out and readied himself for the bone-crushing shake. He at least managed not to flinch this time, but was a bit peeved when Con didn't get the same treatment, receiving a slap to the shoulder instead – mind you, it did make him stagger.

"Come on through to my office," Collig said and led them across the room, weaving them through the partitioned areas, chattering pleasantries to them as they went.

Fenton took a peek at his partner sideways and caught Con doing the same back. They were both obviously thinking the same thing – Ezra Collig was being overtly friendly and he was never that friendly. It didn't sit well. _What is he after?_

He led them to his office and opened the door, motioning them to enter and asked his secretary to bring a coffee pot into their meeting.

"_Meeting?"_ Con mouthed silently at Fenton, who lifted one side of his mouth and shook his head slightly. He was just as bemused.

As Fenton entered the room, he stopped dead, almost causing Con to run into the back of him. Sitting at the small circular conference table, surrounded by four chairs, was a stranger dressed in a black suit and wearing sunglasses. His hands were clasped and resting lightly on the tabletop in front of him. As they'd entered, his head had turned towards them, pitched slightly to one side.

"Erm, Hi." Fenton said. The man didn't respond in kind, so Fenton turned to Collig with a puzzled expression.

"I see you've met our friend. Ignore him, he's here purely in an observational capacity."

"Observing what, exactly?" Con asked, suspiciously.

"Our meeting."

Fenton raised his hand. "Not wishing to be argumentative or rude, but I don't actually recall scheduling a meeting into my diary, and I'm sure Con didn't either."

"That's an affirmative, Fen. What's going on?" Con asked.

"Relax boys, this is to your advantage. Sit down," Collig said, pulling one of the chairs out and parking himself down. Neither of them moved. "I said, sit."

"We're not a couple of badly trained pooches, Chief!" Con protested.

Fenton crossed his eyes at Con. "Let's get this over and done with. If we don't like where the conversation is heading, we can always leave – it's not like we're under arrest—" he turned quickly to Collig. "—We're not under arrest are we?"

"Did anyone read you your Miranda Rights?"

"No."

"Well then, you've got nothing to worry about." Collig lifted his chin and pulled both chairs away from the table. He'd sat in the middle of the two seats, preventing Fenton from sitting next to his partner.

So Fenton made his way around to the furthest chair and picked it up to bring it around the table. He plonked it down next to the other empty seat and joined Con in looking pointedly at Ezra Collig until he finally shuffled his own chair across to make room. Only then did they finally settle down. The stranger in the wraparound sunglasses and expensive suit still hadn't moved, other than to observe their unravelling 'status' game.

Almost immediately, the door opened again and Collig's secretary entered with the coffee. Con stood up for her, took the tray and pushed it towards his old boss.

Collig started pouring out the coffee, but didn't offer one to the stranger, who didn't seem at all bothered.

"Fenton," Collig started. "I hear that Frank's car's been stolen?"

"That's right."

"A shame, it was a nice car by all accounts. I hope he gets it back."

"So do I, especially as it's been reported to the police. I expect your guys are out looking for it? Look, Ezra, is this conversation leading anywhere? Because if not, I'd like to start searching for it myself before Frank gets back and discovers it's missing."

Collig smiled and took a drink of his coffee and studied the both of them over his cup. "You've been noticed. Someone's been watching what your little agency has been doing, and they like what they've seen. And the incident with Frank's car – it's hopefully going to prove fortuitous for your agency."

Con and Fenton shared a baffled look. "Not sure we're quite following you." Fenton eventually said.

Collig swept his cup in the direction of the stranger. "People high up in the government are interested in hiring your agency to do a little freelance investigative work for them and it could become a regular gig."

The man actually moved. He looked towards Collig and nodded. "I like them, they'll do." Then he stood up, and left the room.

"Huh?" Con responded. "What was that all about?"

But Fenton wasn't prepared to wait and find out what else Collig was going to propose, he'd heard the word 'government' and had put it together with the word 'Network' and didn't like what he was hearing. With a face like thunder, he immediately shoved his seat back, stood, and started removing his visitor badge, feeling heat rising to his face.

"Now look here, Ezra. I'm not getting involved in anything to do with those Network people. Look at the mess they left my boys in. I'm not putting them through any more of that. Laura and me nearly lost both boys that night!" He finally managed to unclip the badge and threw it down on the table before making to leave.

Collig's incredulous voice immediately came booming back at him across the office. "Relax Fenton, this isn't anything to do with that organisation, this is purely, central government stuff. Cases they don't want to deal with themselves."

Fenton stalled at the door and had half turned when he heard Con mutter: "Fen—" in a warning tone.

He looked back to see that Ezra was standing with his knuckles resting on the table top, and Con had slid down in his chair and dropped his head back against the headrest, eyes settled on the ceiling. Only because of Con's muttered caveat did Fenton decide to hear the Chief out, although one hand stayed resting on the doorknob ready to leave in an instant if he still didn't like what he was about to hear.

Collig continued: "What you just experienced was a kind of job interview. They wanted to make sure that a mistake wouldn't be made in asking you to become involved in a case. You passed. They like your attitude – they don't like sheep."

Con shifted slightly in his seat, and Fenton's attention switched to him for an instant. Con's index finger was pressing hard up against his lips and Fenton knew…just knew…that he was fighting the urge to go "baaaaa".

Chief Collig continued his explanation, pulling Fenton's attention back. "This is purely related to Frank's car being boosted and nothing else. I figured that if you're both going to be looking into that, you might as well kill two birds with one stone and earn a bit of cash in the process. Give me some credit, Fenton, I'd never have ask you here if it was anything to do with the Network!"

Fenton dropped his head, chastened, and returned to the table and his chair. "Ah, I see. Sorry Ezra."

Collig grunted and strode over to his desk to pick up a cardboard box that was perched in the middle of his blotting pad. He returned with it and slid it towards them. "The contents of this are for you all to inspect at your leisure, after I've explained what they are proposing. Then, if you're interested, I've been given permission to negotiate the fee with you."

"Fire away," Fenton said, picking up his drink again and reattaching the badge.

Collig took another swallow of his coffee before beginning. "There's been a sharp increase in high-end cars being stolen from across the East-coast area. From Florida all the way up to Maine. Thefts have more than doubled in the last twelve months and those figures are steadily rising. Some of them have been taken by force, but the majority were simply driven away under cover of darkness. The police forces involved have pooled their intelligence and it's now clear that it's an organised network of criminals who have banded together in order to run it as a business. It appears that they are stealing the cars to order, and once they've been taken, none have been tracked down."

"Are they being sent abroad?" Con asked.

"That's a possibility, but it's all supposition at the moment. Now it appears that the high-end cars are not all they're interested in, and the thefts of mid-range cars have begun to increase as well. It's suspected that these are somehow being sold on the open market, but that's proving hard to establish as any cars inspected at random have all shown up with legitimate paperwork. Frank's car would be classified as mid-range, but there are an awful lot of similar mid-range vehicles out there, so tracking down one takes a lot of legwork and the various police forces don't have the manpower to be able to concentrate on it."

Inexplicably, Con suddenly started to laugh, loudly. Fenton and Chief Collig both turned to him, surprised.

"What's so funny?" Fenton asked.

Con carried on for a few more seconds, but eventually settled down enough to be able to answer him. "Don't you see, Fen? Someone high up has had a car stolen and they're pissed about it and have decided that now is the time that something should be done!"

Fenton slowly grinned and switched his attention to Collig and raised his eyebrows. "Well, Ezra?"

"That's not for me to say," he said, and winked conspiratorially, making it very clear that Con had knocked the nail on the head. He rapped his fist on the table to get the ex-Lieutenant's attention again. "What I will tell you though, is that they initially hired another private detective to look into this who hasn't been heard from for a long time, so they're hoping that if your agency goes looking, you'll find the missing P.I. as well."

"So this isn't simply about cars being boosted?" Con asked. "This could involve a kidnapping, or even a murder?"

Collig shrugged and looked from Fenton to Con. "So, what say you, boys, Interested?"

Con caught Fenton's eye and they nodded.

"Yes, we're interested. Fenton said. "As you pointed out, I'm going to be trying to track down Frank's convertible so we might as well be earning some money along the way." He turned his head slightly to one side. "One thing before we start talking about the fee. If we're going to look into this on behalf of the government and on behalf of the various police forces, we'll want access to police equipment, files, databases, etcetera. And we do it our way – no interference!"

"Agreed." Collig rose from the table once again to fetch a pad of paper from his top drawer. "I've been authorised to offer you this much to look into the case." He turned the page over and pushed the pad across the table.

Fenton and Con looked at the figure jotted at the top. Collig had surprisingly feminine handwriting for a man with such fat fingers. Con's eyes opened slightly wider in surprise at the offer 'on the table' and his pupils expanded, but Fenton shook a negative head and held his hand out. "Pen, please Ezra."

Collig took one from his top shirt pocket and handed it across.

Fenton picked up the pad and scrawled a figure onto the page. He showed it first to Con to approve and then passed it back to the Chief.

"You doubled it!" Collig exclaimed "For the love of—" He glanced darkly at Fenton, pursed his lips, wrote another figure and returned it.

Fenton shook his head again. "Okay, Ezra. Cards on the table time. I think you'll find this to be a fair compromise." He put the pen to paper again and heavily underlined the total.

He passed it first into Con's hands this time and his partner read what Fenton had put, his mouth kinking up at the corners in amusement as he slid it back to his ex-boss.

Ezra Collig glanced at it and looked sharply up at Fenton, his eyebrows knitted. "That's the same figure as the last one you wrote down!"

"I know it is, and that's my final offer, Ezra. If they want the best, they'll have to pay for it. Take it or leave it."

The Chief considered the fee for a little while longer. "You drive a hard bargain, but you've got yourselves a deal, boys." He put his hand out to shake on it.

"_Oh no!" _Fenton thought, aghast, and allowed Ezra Collig to attempt to break his fingers again. Afterwards, he reached his tingling fingers into his inside pocket and took out the CD that had been burned for him by the security guard at the apartment building. "Ezra, can you see if your lab guys can clean this up for us? It's CCTV footage of the car being taken. At one point the perp looks over his shoulder and I'm hoping he showed more of his face than he meant to."

Collig took it from him and tapped it against his temple in agreement.


	5. Chapter 5

**Boosting - Chapter 5**

Frank hadn't returned to Joe and their table for a good ten minutes or more, by which time, his burger had grown cold and Joe had long finished his. Frank slid back into the seat and started zipping up his leather biker jacket, imprisoning his walking stick away inside. Evidently, he wasn't going to be using it. "Ready to go?"

"You okay, Frank?" Joe asked, bemused.

"Yeah, why?" Frank shot back, in an overly surprised tone.

"Because you…never mind." Joe sighed. "You going to eat that burger?"

Frank looked down at it as though it was the first time he'd noticed it was there. "Nah, I'm not hungry. Let's go and find that cabin. You can follow me this time—" he grinned and tipped his head towards the waitress he'd managed to offend earlier. "—as you didn't bother to look at the map when you had the chance!"

Joe frowned at the back of his brother's head as they left the restaurant, amazed at his brother's ability to switch his moods on and off at the drop of a hat. When he got outside, he zipped his jacket up, and patted his pocket to make sure he'd not left his wallet at the table. Then he sensed he was being watched suddenly and looked over his shoulder to find the coquettish waitress was watching him closely. She slowly looked him up and down, smiled flirtatiously and wiggled her fingers, so he waved back_. "I've still got it!"_

He reached his bike after Frank, who had already jammed his helmet down onto his head and was fastening up the chinstrap. Joe desperately wanted to discuss with his brother what had happened at the table, but he obviously wasn't going to get the opportunity. His brother was still managing to put hurdles in the way.

Joe straddled his bike and started putting his own helmet on, watching as Frank turned the throttle towards himself and simultaneously pressed the red button, his bike roaring into life. He kicked up the stand and leaned the full weight of the machine directly onto his right leg, obviously suffering a little discomfort in his knee at having to support such a weight, but managing to control it admirably. His left toes tapped the bike into first gear and he pulled away, barely giving his brother enough time to follow suit.

*****

Fenton knew that Con was in a state of shock when he pointed out that he didn't think he'd be able to mentally absorb what was in the box given to them by Chief Ezra Collig until they got back to the office, and had proposed leaving it until then. This was a first for Fenton Hardy: in all the years he'd known his friend, he'd never known Con Riley not to want to open a mysterious package immediately.

As soon as they'd reached the car outside the station house, Con had blurted out. "Fen, did you see how much we're getting paid for this job?"

"Considering I negotiated it, yes!" Fenton said, grinning.

"But you've always said that you'd have earned a lot more if you'd stayed working for the NYPD – were you lying to me, pal?"

"No. I remember what I said, and I wasn't pulling your leg. That was the highest amount I've ever dared bargain, and I'm a bit taken aback that it worked myself." He started the engine. "I remembered how much Joe and Frank got paid and realised that the government obviously has a lot more to offer than the average client and this isn't your average job."

"How did you have the nerve?"

Fenton laughed. "It's all in the wrist, my friend—" Con cast him a strange look until he snickered and said: "Seriously, its just practice. I've been negotiating fees for years, remember, you'll get the hang of it." He began pulling out into traffic. "I knew having Frank and Joe on the books was a shrewd move."

Reaching their office block, Con took the box and they re-entered the building and made their way quickly to the office. Fenton let them in and immediately went and wheeled his chair from his desk up to Con's and they both sat down across from one another and prepared to finally open the package.

"Let's see what we have here, Flash." Con muttered and tore the tape from across the length of the box, released the flaps and pushed them aside."

Fenton stared silently at the random pile within, taking in the spectacular view. Eventually, he took a pen and reached forward to hooked a pair of police issue handcuffs and raise them into the air, rocking them backwards and forwards in front of Con's face. "Hmm, I wonder what possible use these could be put to?" he asked, amused.

"I can think of a few—" Con remarked. "Four sets, with keys!" He pulled them free of the heap and placed them to one side. "Oh-ho, and look at these as well!" he said digging out four black leather wallets that were all linked together by an elastic band. He pulled it off and started opening them until he came to a particular one. "As I thought, Police badges, no, scratch that—" He turned it around for Fenton to see "—Not police badges, FBI badges. I left the force and got a promotion!"

Fenton opened up the other three and checked the names of whom they were made out to. "They're definitely including my sons in this arrangement," he confirmed. "They even got hold of photographs. Obviously they've been planning on hiring us for a while. I feel a bit manipulated and dirty. Thank God for the money, but I still need a long shower!"

Con laughed and then sobered and muttered: "Uh-oh!"

Fenton glanced up from the badges. "Uh-oh?" He saw that Con had removed a large manila envelope from the top of the box and was now peering down at what was hidden underneath. So Fenton looked over into the box to see what had made his friend react so dramatically and felt his own mouth dropping open.

Eventually, through narrowed eyes, Con said, "What are they expecting us to be getting involved with?"

They both simultaneously reached into the interior of the box and pulled forth one of the four Walther 9mm pistols that were lying inside.

Con brandished his and appeared to be testing the weight in his hand.

Fenton did the same; assuming that the weapon wasn't pre-loaded as it was so light. He confirmed this by running his thumb across to the lever next to the trigger and sliding the empty magazine case free. "Worrying!" was all he said as he slapped it back into its placement.

Reaching into the box again, Con rummaged about until he came upon a box of ammunition and held it forth. "Ditto worrying!"

Fenton sat back in his seat, still with the gun in his hand. "I suppose it's standard practice to issue all agents a firearm, but nevertheless—" he raised an eyebrow. "—I'm not exactly thrilled at some faceless agency handing weapons over to my boys." He tossed the gun into the box, feeling slightly revolted.

"I hate to remind you, Buddy, but Frank and Joe are a little old to be told they can't arm themselves. They're a chip off the ol' block, and if that means they have access to all the equipment we've been issued with, so be it! I've seen them down at the shooting range, and they're pretty good marksmen."

"Frank and Joe use the shooting range?"

"Erm…yeah. Didn't you know?" Con reddened.

"No." Fenton thought about for a second and then smiled grudgingly, "You're right, they are too old to be told what to do. He stood to tip the remaining items out of the box, and then began packing the guns, ammo, cuffs, and badges into it. But then he froze, having second thoughts and decided to take his and his partner's badges back out. He handed Con's to him and slipped his own into his pocket. "Actually, these could come in handy, but the rest is going straight into the safe." Closing the flaps down on the box, he dipped out of Con's sight to open the strongbox.

While he was opening the door, Fenton heard the unmistakable sound of an envelope being split open. He quickly moved some things aside and shoved the box into the safe before slamming and locking the door. He bobbed back up to find that Con had pushed his seat back on its wheels and was resting his heels up on the table top, flicking through a document thoughtfully.

"What you got there?" Fenton asked.

"It's a list of the cars they believe were boosted by the organised gang. It includes addresses of the victims, dates, times and incident reports. Ming was right, some of the more rarer ones were taken by force, but most were taken at night when everyone was asleep." He looked up as Fenton was sitting himself down again and grimaced. "Fen, it's a massive list, there must be over 200 cars here."

Fenton reached forward and took the list, glancing through it himself. "Boy, this is a huge job," he agreed and dropped the paper down into his lap. "We're seriously short-handed with the boys being away."

"Do you want to call them back?"

"No I don't, I want them to rest and get their strength back." He dropped the manuscript down onto the table, picked up the pen and started tapping it on the table solicitously. "We need at least one other set of hands, and someone who can hit the ground running—"

"Sam Radley?" Con immediately suggested.

"It's the obvious solution, but he's not around. He and Ethel are away – and his life's supposed to be slowing down, not speeding up."

Con's face softened. "Oscar Smuff?"

"So very funny! You should be on the stage!"

Con laughed. "Okay, pal – what about Nancy Drew?"

Fenton slowly smiled. "You know what? That's not such a bad idea!" He reached for the phone and tapped in Nancy's cell phone number. Connecting, it began ringing out and was picked up after three rings. He could immediately hear music, followed by a loud squeal and riotous laughter. A voice started 'shushing' before saying: _"Hi, Fenton."_

"Hi Nancy, honey. Sorry to interrupt, you sound like you've got visitors."

"_No, just Vanessa – Rufus dashed out from under the couch and attacked Van's ankle. I haven't heard anything from Joe if that's why you're phoning?"_

"It isn't."

"_Oh?"_

"Nancy, are you on a case at the moment?"

"_That'd be something of a miracle considering I'm not __at__ work at the moment. Why?"_

"Con and myself…well, the whole agency really…have been hired to look into a large case and we were wondering that as the boys are away, if you wouldn't mind coming and giving us a hand in the meantime – you'll get paid, of course."

"_Sure!" s_he immediately replied, obviously flattered and surprised to be asked. _"So long as Frank doesn't find out I didn't go back to River Heights, then yeah, I'd love to. Would you like me to come over?"_

"If you're able to."

"_I'm not doing anything special, finishing off some pizza. I'll be over in about half an hour when I've prised Rufus from Vanessa's leg!"_

Obviously tired of waiting, Con opened the last envelope and pulled another document free.

"Great. See you in a short while." Fenton said, finishing off his conversation with Nancy and disconnecting the call. "What you got there, Con?"

"It's a dossier on the missing private investigator. His name is Bobby Shandley. Ever heard of him?"

"Can't say that I have, name certainly doesn't ring a bell. Is there a photograph?"

Con went back to turning the pages over. "Yes…oops, it's a girl, not a guy. It's Bobbie with an 'ie', not a 'y'." He passed it across for his friend to have a look.

Fenton accepted it and looked hard at the picture of a girl with dark, shoulder length hair and big doleful eyes. "No, can't say I've ever met her. She's young, isn't she?" he flipped the pages back to the front. "From Pennsylvania. Says here that she was making a trip to follow-up on a lead but hasn't made contact with her family since."

"What sort of a lead?"

"Doesn't say. It appears she didn't even set a mechanism in place to keep someone informed of her whereabouts – why on earth was she hired to do this job? She obviously lacks experience." He turned over the final sheet. "Oh, here's why she was hired, she's the daughter of a senator." He licked his upper lip. "Obviously it's who you know and not what you know in the state of Pennsylvania."

Con shook his head in amazement. "Unbelievable!" He took his feet off the table and stood up. "Coffee?"

"Sounds like a plan." Fenton replied, shuffling together all the paperwork and leaving them in the middle of the desk in a neat pile. He stood and followed his friend to the kettle. "I've got a fair idea as to how we should split responsibilities between us, but that's a discussion to be had when Nancy gets here."

Shortly she walked in through the front door. "Yowsers! Smell the testosterone!" was the first thing she said and followed that up with a quick scan of the room. She pointed at one desk "Joe's." and then at the other "Frank's."

Fenton and Con were both leaning back against the counter, steaming mugs in their hands, already on their second cups.

"Well, you can tell Nancy's a detective, what remarkable observational powers of deduction she has!" Con said.

"Is this the first time you've visited the office?" Fenton asked her, tugging at his eyebrow.

"I came here once a long time ago, but you were still only working with Sam, and I think you were in that smaller office across the hall."

"Do you take sugar, Nancy?" Con asked, turning to the kettle again.

"No thanks, just milk."

They spent the reminder of the evening filling Nancy in on the case and breaking the news about her boyfriend's missing car. She was heartily angry about Frank's convertible being stolen and therefore more enthused than ever to offer her services. They then divvied the various jobs out.

Due to Con's experience of dealing with vehicle thefts during his time in the force, he was volunteered to concentrate on the cars. Nancy agreed to assist Con, but with a particular view to getting Frank's car back. This left Fenton, due to his vast knowledge of tracking down missing persons and runaways, to investigate the whereabouts of the elusive Miss Shandley.

"Will you be okay on your own looking for Bobbie?" Nancy asked Fenton afterwards.

"Um?" Fenton asked, pulling his gaze away from Frank's desk to answer her. "I'll play it be ear and if I need any help, I'll come looking. So don't worry about me, just find Frank's car." He went back to plucking away at his brow.


	6. Chapter 6

**Boosting - Chapter 6**

Joe was enjoying the motorcycle drive through the open country. It was nice cruising along and allowing the sound of the engine to lull him without having to worry about investigating anything. The only thing to concentrate on being Frank on his scarlet and black bike out in front, while avoiding potholes and other vehicles, which were few and far between.

It felt like they were kids again going off on one of their adolescent adventures. This particular stretch of asphalt with overhanging trees and shrubs especially reminded him of Shore Road, and he half expected to round a bend and come face-to-face with that old house on the cliff that they used to dumbly believe was haunted. Until, of course, they'd later uncovered the truth that the supposed ghost had been, in fact, a gang of nefarious smugglers!

Joe kept catching himself grinning behind his helmet feeling nostalgic. His face was starting to ache.

Half an hour later, which seemed a much shorter time span, Frank was indicating and leading him onto a rougher, dirt track.

Working down through the gears, Joe proceeded to follow on and began negotiating his way around the uneven surface, avoiding scattered and slippery mud patches. Shortly, he could see the cabin up ahead of them with an SUV parked outside; looking exactly as it had done in the Internet pictures. A veritable picture postcard, so unlike that image of that creepy old house that kept appearing in his head.

Of a cedar wood construction, the single-level building had a frontage consisting of a blue door centrally placed between two windows with four steps leading up to the main entrance. At the top of those stairs, and to the left, an extra wooden step led up onto a wrap-around decked porch cum patio area, upon which was a table with four chairs for outside living. A wooden railing ran around the front of the house and disappeared around the side, caging off the patio and creating a viewing area to the other elevation – it was pretty much perfect.

The sight of it seemed to spur the brothers on and they gunned their engines and put on a little more speed, quickly roaring up to the front of the wooden structure and stopping; in Joe's case, into an impressive skid.

Joe pushed his visor up and found that Frank was pointing, having already removed his helmet.

"Look at that!" Frank exclaimed, indicating to the lake that ran alongside the cabin itself, overlooked by the windows to the side of the property, giving an obvious explanation for the need of a viewing platform.

Joe knew there was a river running by that fed into a larger body of water, but he didn't know it was so close to the house – bonus! "Did I pick a cool place, or did I pick a cool place?" he asked, leaning his elbows onto his handlebars.

"You picked a cool place—" said a stranger's voice from the front doorway.

They both turned in their saddles and found a man standing on the front stoop smiling down on them. "Mr Hardy and Mr Hardy, I presume?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm Frank and this here is Joe – take your helmet off, bro!" Frank put his bike into neutral, rocked it back on its stand and disembarked to shake the stranger's hand who was walking down to meet him halfway.

Joe did likewise, unclipping and removing his helmet before joining Frank to take the man's hand. "Mr Penny?"

"Yes, and you're right on time – who's in charge of the keys?"

Joe tipped his head towards his brother. "Big brother's less likely to lose them than me," he admitted with a laugh.

Frank accepted the keys and they watched as the man walked between them and started making his way to his SUV.

"Enjoy your stay. Leave the keys on the inside table when you're done and pull the door shut after you," Mr Penny called over his shoulder before climbing into his vehicle and driving away.

On the journey over, Joe had reached the decision that somersaulting into Frank's head in camouflage gear, with all guns blazing possibly wasn't the best-laid plan he'd ever had. So theorised instead that as they were in a totally different environment, his brother would become more relaxed, which would hopefully loosen his tongue. He had to give him a little time and be patient – not a virtue he admittedly held in spades – so he knew he would have to sit on his usual impulses. Unhitching his saddlebag from his bike, he proceeded to carry it into the house to join his bother in the doorway.

He found that the inside of the cabin was comprised of a comfortable seating area immediately as they entered, with a wood burning fire and a well-stocked kitchenette and dining table. To the left was a raised area, which had two easy chairs set upon it in front of a patio door leading out onto the viewing area overlooking the lake. In front of the window stood a tall tripod housing a large telescope that was aimed across the water.

Splintering off from this main area were three comfortable double bedrooms, two of which had their own bathrooms – they decided immediately to commandeer those as their own and lugged their saddlebags inside and dumped them on the beds. Unsurprisingly to Joe, his brother immediately set about unpacking and getting himself in order.

Joe left him to it and headed to the kitchen area to start mooching. "Want some chow?" he called out, inspecting the label on a tin. It hadn't been that long since he'd had the burger at the diner, but it was in the back of his mind that Frank hadn't eaten anything. Either way, Joe was always in the mood for a feed, so it made little difference to him.

Frank came out of his bedroom and nodded in agreement and between them, they cooked a simple meal, which they took out onto the viewing area with the intention of eating while looking over the lake. Once they'd slid open the patio doors, however, they'd found more steps leading down to the lakefront, so they sat there with their plates balanced precariously on their knees and made small talk.

"Hey, Frank," Joe said and smirked. "Do you remember when Chet decided to try fly-tying as a hobby?"

Frank chortled. "Aw man, yeah! I think he caught himself more than he caught any fish." Giving up on trying to balance his plate, Frank set it down on the ground instead and began skewering each piece of food by gripping the very end of the fork. He pushed his leg out in front of him to straighten it fully and flex his foot.

"Not one of 'em even passably resembled a fly – at least, no insect I've ever seen," Joe agreed. "He made this one, and I swear to God, it was fluff from his belly-button with a hook tied on!"

Frank burst into laughter. "Was that the one he managed to spear into his palm and we had to take him over to the ER to get it removed?"

"Yeah, I think it was. He screamed like a girl." Joe raised himself from the steps and took their plates back inside to dump them in the basin, noting that Frank had only eaten half of his.

"Let's go and have a look around." Frank suggested, silhouetted in the doorway. "Before it gets dark."

Joe leaned his hand against the counter, feeling beat. He knew he should be kicking back and taking it easy, but he decided to throw caution to the wind and let his bother have his way. However, to his surprise and concern, Frank's choice of exploration was a trudge up quite a steep embankment. "Frank, we shouldn't – your knee, dude!" Joe warned.

"Don't worry, Bro, if I feel any worrying pains, I'll stop." Frank assured him. "And besides," he reached inside his jacket, pulled forth his walking stick and snapped each section into place, "I have my trusty steed!" He waved it in the air and grinned.

Joe was doubtful, but his fears were proven unfounded because Frank not only used his stick, he was so practiced with it that he was able to control the pressure he was putting on his recovering leg the entire way up. The older Hardy brother even rested at the halfway point without Joe having to suggest it. And truth be known, Joe was relieved to take that break himself because the side where he had taken the bullet was starting to complain a little, not that he mentioned that to his brother.

It took them quite a while, but they did eventually reach the top and found they were overlooking the huge expanse of water below them.

Once they'd caught their breaths, Frank scanned around and found a fair sized stone. He tested the weight in his hand for a couple of bounces and suddenly leaned back and hurled it as high and as far as his could and they both stood side-by-side and watched it sail down and hit the water with a gentle plop, sending up a tall spray into the air. Frank glanced at his brother. "Do you think—?" he began, and then stopped to pick up a stick and flung that instead.

After patiently waiting for some long seconds, Joe implored, "Go on, Dude."

Frank rubbed his nose. "Can't remember what I was goin' to say. Doesn't matter."

Joe sat down on a large rock and began to tie a loose bootlace. When he looked up again, he found his brother was standing right on the edge, staring down into the water, his face solemn, his mouth drawn-down. It was uncomfortable viewing him positioned that close to such a sheer drop, but Joe avoided the impulse to pull him back.

"Let's go down before it gets completely dark," Joe said and stood up. "I think I'm getting a blister and I don't think it would be a good idea you tryin' to manoeuvre your way down in poor light and risk trippin'." He didn't wait for his brother to agree, simply started down and was reassured to hear his brother mechanically following on behind.

They finally emerged out from the trees in front of the cabin again after travelling down in companiable silence the entire way. "I challenge you to a skimming competition!" Joe blurted out as soon as they were next to the water again. It was literally the only thing he could think of to suggest. _"Lame, Joe, so very lame!"_

"You're on!" Frank surprisingly agreed. He folded up his walking stick and again imprisoned it inside his jacket.

Joe picked up the flattest stone his could immediately find and threw it underarm. It shot out of his fingers like a bullet and skimmed across the water, bouncing a few times and sinking out of sight. "Only two," he muttered, unimpressed.

Frank followed up with the same type of move, but his style was closer to ground level. Not that it made any difference as he also scored only two. "We're out of practice!" he muttered with a look of disgust at the duo of ripples he'd created.

Nodding sagely, Joe agreed. "We so are. We used to be great at this!"

They continued taking it in turns, but after about five minutes and because of the way Joe had to bend to throw, his side began knotting up. So when he stood up, he leaned the other way to stretch the muscle and eased it.

Frank had finished skimming a four-bouncer when he suddenly said, "Joe, when Iola died – and I know this is in no way a comparison – but—"

"—It's okay," Joe was quick to assure him in a nonchalant tone.

"Well, I remember you had nightmares, right?"

Joe smiled, but was careful not to let Frank see, skimming another pebble with his back to him. "Yeah I did, and intense ones at times. Why do you ask?"

"How did you stop them from happening?"

"Why, are you gettin' them?"

"They're interfering with my sleep."

Joe decided to apply some gentle pressure: "Why do you think you're suffering from them?" he asked and tossed another stone. Immediately upon the rock leaving his fingers, he was aware of a sudden, building pressure in his side and he began to cramp up again. _"Not now, not now!"_ he remonstrated and attempted to ignore it and act as if nothing was wrong, hoping it would pass. He leaned forward, gripped his knees and pretended to watch his brother's pebble bounce while taking in silent deep breathes through bared teeth.

Frank continued: "Do you have any ideas as to what I can do to rid myself of them?"

Joe stood upright and put his hands on his waist to stretch, and started pacing about; making believe he was searching for a suitable stone and waiting for the discomfort to lessen. "The thing is, Frank, you have to explore the reasons why they're occurring in the first place before you can—" he stopped for a second and swallowed hard before continuing, "—really get to the crux…of the…of the—" and that was all he was capable of saying for the moment.

His hands were back on his knees and he knew he was lurching into an attack of the worst muscle spasm he'd had in weeks. All that travelling, walking uphill and stone skimming had caught up with him – big time! He gritted his teeth, a whining noise escaping from somewhere deep within despite his best effort to stay silent. It sounded unnerving, even to him.

Joe heard his brother drop his latest pebble and move quickly towards him, before then feeling hands gripping his shoulders. "What's wrong?" Frank demanded to know.

In an attempt to lessen the impact of what was about to occur, and while he still could speak half coherently, Joe raised his head, looked his brother dead in the eyes and blurted out: "Frank, something that will look bad is goin' to happen, but this is something my doctor warned me about and it's totally normal."

Frank was gawking at him, his eyes wide with confusion and concern.

Joe made a strangled noise as the first wave hit him and he began to sink.

Frank switched his hands from Joe's shoulders to his elbows and supported him all the way down, helping to ensure that he didn't hit the ground hard. "What is it? What's happening? What's wrong?"

Lying on his back with his legs drawn up and unable to answer for the moment, Joe closed his eyes and cupped his side, concentrating on riding it out. When the cramp started to finally ease, he opened them again and caught Frank holding and staring down into his cell phone's screen. Second-guessing his intention, Joe reached out and gripped around his brother's hand and the handset, trapping them and stopping him from being able to dial. "No need for an ambulance, just help me back to the cabin."

"Are you sure?" Frank asked, immediately replacing the phone for his walking stick and hurriedly unfolding it.

"Yeah, quick, before it starts again!" Joe urgently pushed himself up off the ground with his brother's help and they began moving towards the house, Joe relying heavily on Frank's left arm for help. They got about half way there when the second wave hit and they had to stop again.

"Are you sure you don't want me to get some help?" Frank asked, once the whimpering had stopped.

Joe shook his head, vehemently. "I've got some medication back in my room, I just need to get at it."

So Frank helped him up again and they moved towards the cabin. One more mini stop on the stairs outside the patio door, but for Frank's knee this time, and they finally made it to Joe's room.

Joe immediately collapsed onto the bed grunting and writhing around as the mythical fist began grinding relentlessly into his muscle again. "This is so not cool!" Joe gasped out, the pain now not coming in waves, but attacking without mercy or respite.

"Where the hell is that medication?" Frank asked, searching urgently through his brother's saddlebags and making a bit of a mess.

"My toiletry bag," Joe forced out. "Stop stressing!"

"You're not seeing what I'm seeing!" Frank shot back and finally put his hands on the little jar of pills and quickly read the label. "Two, right?" he asked for confirmation.

Joe nodded, perspiration beading his brow.

Frank left hurriedly to get some water and when he returned, Joe allowed his brother to pull him half upright so he could swallow the tablets down. Twenty minutes later, he was starting to feel less uncomfortable, the creases in his face smoothing out.

"What was that?" Frank asked. "Man, it was like watching _Alien_, but with less gore – you could have warned me!"

Joe was still self-comforting by stroking his side. "When I was shot, they didn't only kill my kidney, they decimated the one side of my abs. The bullet did that thing where it left a small entrance but large exit wound. My muscles are nearly healed, but they still get painful sometimes if I overdo it. The pills are a muscle relaxant, but I only take them when things get bad. I hadn't had a bout of cramp for ages before this, so I thought I was done with them. They'll knock me out in a little while, so you won't have to listen to my yammering soon."

Frank slumped down onto the side of the bed. "Joe, I'm real sorry. I wish you'd never had to get up onto the school roof that night, and the shooting—"

Joe cut him off. "Don't be stupid, dude! If I hadn't gone, you'd be dead right now and who would be around to give me my pills then? It was only a muscle spasm." He felt himself growing steadily wearier, eyes drooping. "I'm goin' to have that nap now, but don't sit there all night staring at me, it gives me the creeps." He settled himself more comfortably and closed his eyes, aware that his brother hadn't moved.

Joe lay there for a while, silent and still and felt himself starting to float up. But then, with one final burst of energy, he sought out his brother's wrist and lightly gripped on. "It's not your fault, dude," he muttered. "Stop beating yourself up about it. We'll talk tomorrow, yeah?" He thought he heard a shuddered sigh in reply, but he wasn't sure because his eyelids were so heavy he simply couldn't lift them to see. So instead, he submitted to the insistent ebb and flow and allowed himself to completely drift away, leaving Frank standing alone on the shore.


	7. Chapter 7

**Boosting - Chapter 7**

Nancy returned to the agency the next morning and let herself into the office. She headed straight for Fenton's desk and laid her purse on top – not really understanding why Fenton had decided to turn his workstation over to her, she supposed he was simply being chivalrous.

_Unbeknownst to Nancy, Fenton Hardy had been fighting an internal argument for half an hour after she'd walked into the building the previous evening about which desk to allocate to her – he simply hadn't wanted to give her Frank's workstation. For all his big talked with Con the day before, he really didn't want to go advertising for a replacement for his oldest. Giving her Frank's desk would have meant admitting something to himself and he wasn't ready for that yet – it seemed wrong somehow. _

_But Joe's table was a pigsty, despite him having given it a tidy and he simply couldn't let the girl sit there! In the end, he decided to allow her to sit at his __own__ and turned over his computer passwords to her. He'd simply have to use Joe's desk himself, after he'd disinfected it!_

For the first few minutes, Nancy set about making herself comfortable. She cleared out a little area in one of the drawers to have somewhere to put her hand cream, lip balm, mascara, and other female products that she couldn't do without. She adjusted the chair's seat height and back support, and switched on the PC.

Nancy went to the filing cabinet and pulled out the dossier of stolen vehicles and started scrutinizing them. She was hoping that something would immediately jump out at her as being out of the ordinary, but they were all extraordinary to her. She was no car expert and didn't even recognise the names of some of the cars they were so unusual – all she knew was that they were either vintage models, sporty, or babe-mobiles. She came to the conclusion that their only and best lead at the moment was actually Frank's convertible.

Nancy figured she needed to find something that was unique about his ride – other than it being her boyfriend's of course! That way, if she went to view the same types of vehicles, she could identify it on sight and not have to rely on any documentation that she might be shown. Then she realised she didn't actually know the make and model of his car either! Obviously she'd seen it and ridden in it, but she'd not bothered to ask about it. Turning to the last page, she was peeved to see that Frank's car had been boosted so recently that it hadn't even made the list. "Blast!" she grumbled as Con came through the door.

"Morning, friend," he said, slouching past and patting her on the shoulder. Unfortunately he had a whole stack of magazines under his arm, which he'd obviously forgotten about because they fell to the ground. "Hell!" he sighed, and went about gathering them all up again with Nancy's help. "Caffeine, I need my caffeine fix!" he muttered and went to switch the kettle on before deviating unsteadily towards his office.

"Morning Con," Nancy said, watching him with amusement. He was barely even cognizant. Con was most definitely not a morning person. She took pity on him and went to make him that drink. "What time does Fenton usually get in?" she asked, glancing at her watch.

Con gazed red-eyed and slack jawed at her from his desk. "Uh—he's not today." He looked across at the clock above Fenton's desk. "He's currently in the air."

"You mean he's flying somewhere?" Nancy asked, surprised. "In a plane?"

"No, I mean he grew big, white, feathery wings overnight…of course he's flying somewhere in a plane – Jack Wayne is winging him to Harrisburg International so he can interview Bobbie Shandley's family in Pennsylvania. He phoned me earlier to let me know."

Nancy sighed. "That's a nuisance. I needed to ask him some questions about Frank's car." She placed a cup of steaming liquid in front of him and went to sit in Fenton's chair again.

Con took a big gulp of his drink. "That's better – caffeine good! Can I be of assistance, my-lady?"

Nancy smiled. "Perhaps, my-lord. Do you happen to know what make and model of car Frank's convertible is?"

"That's an easy one, it's a 2002 Chevrolet Corvette."

"Do you also know if there's anything unique about it that would make it stand out from the crowd?"

"Ah, that I don't know, although I know Frank tinkers with it a lot, so it wouldn't surprise me if the kid added something fancy. It was a wreck when he bought it – was actually crashed by a perp he and Joe were pursuing and Frank took pity on it afterwards. By all accounts it was a ground up restoration job, a bit of a project." He smiled suddenly. "I know it drove Laura mad, because it was under their carport for months in pieces and wrapped in plastic. Why don't you phone him?"

"Because that would mean Frank finding out his car's gone and I'm here, and we were hoping to avoid that."

"I see what you mean. _Rock-and-a-hard-place_."

Nancy pondered the problem for a while and said: "I'll give Joe a call," and picked up the phone.

It took quite a while for him to answer and when he did, he sounded thick with sleep. _"Yo—"_ he breathed.

"Hi Joseph, it's Nancy. I'm sorry; I woke you, didn't I? Are you able to talk?" There was a fairly extensive silence from the other end, although she could hear the phone creaking and Joe breathing, so she knew they were still connected. "Joe, you still with me?" she finally prompted loudly when it became obvious the pause was starting to become rather more permanent.

"Erm…yeah, head's not working – zonked. Can I phone you back in five?"

"Of course. Speak to you in a while," she put the phone down, and turned to Con wryly. "Joe sounded a tad out of it, I feel a bit guilty phoning him now."

*****

Joe had no idea for how long his phone had been ringing before he answered it. He had to fight through a real head-fog to wake up, and it had taken quite a mental effort to get his head around the fact of why he was in bed fully clothed, apart from his boots.

Finally locating his phone, he put it to his head. "Hello?" Immediately he realised he'd not pressed the green button as it screeched down his ear. He flinched and tried again. "Yo—"

"_Hi Joseph, it's Nancy. I'm sorry; I woke you, didn't I? Are you able to talk?"_

Joe lay there trying to figure out where Frank could possibly be. He didn't want to talk openly to Nancy if there was any possibility he could be overheard. Not that he gave it too much thought, because he was dropping off again and dreaming about Nancy Drew, standing in front of him drumming her fingers impatiently. She put her hands on her hips and snapped: "Joe, you still with me?"

Her voice bucked him awake again. "Erm…yeah, head's not working – zonked." He forced his eyes wide open and rapidly blinked. "Can I phone you back in five?"

"_Of course. Speak to you in a while."_

He let the phone drop through lazy fingers onto the pillow next to his head and scratched his chin before sluggishly raising himself. Looking through hooded eyes into the living room area, he realised he wasn't the only one with sleep issues, Frank was slumped in the sofa and hadn't been awakened by the sound of the phone, and his brother was an early riser usually and quite a light sleeper.

Joe swung his legs out over the side and briskly rubbed his face to try and conjure some depth of alertness. He retrieved his phone and slithered quietly past his brother; half noticing that Frank hadn't even removed his boots, and slipped out through the front door to sit on the porch and return Nancy's call.

"_Hi Joe. Sorry about waking you, is everything alright?"_

"Yeah. I didn't have a good night. Overloaded myself. What did you phone about?"

"_Frank's not with you, is he?"_

"No. He's dead to the world in a chair – in fact, it wouldn't surprise me if he is dead! I can see him from here through the window and he hasn't moved one inch. What's up?"

"_How's it going?"_

Joe made a rocking motion with his hand. "So-so. He started talking about some stuff last night, and then a cramp happened and we had to stop, but we're getting there."

"_That's good, because I've got some bad news – but I don't want you to tell Frank about it."_

"Babe, you're not filling me with joyful morning cheer! What's happened?"

"_It's Frank's car, it's been stolen."_

"Oh what?" Joe grunted and added a choice word, which questioned the parentage of the person who stole his brother's convertible.

"_Yeah, I agree! I'm damned if I'm going to let some two-bit thief steal it! I'm going after it, but I need your help."_

"Hit me—"

"_Is there anything unique about Frank's car, something that makes it stand out from the crowd? Con said he'd 'tinkered' with it?"_

Joe rubbed the back of his head and stifled a yawn. "Yeah. It has a new CD stereo with a multi-disc system under the passenger seat. That year of car didn't have anything other than a basic CD player and radio combo. And it's a manual rather than an automatic – Frank loves his stick shift, reckons it gives him greater control and makes it more fun to drive."

"_Down with him on that one…anything else?"_

"He had the carpeting changed to black."

"_What's so unusual about that?"_

"It's a dark black, not like the charcoal color the others are fitted with. And on the passenger seat, if you look at the side that's adjacent to the door…there's just the slightest white paint mark that somehow got on it and wouldn't come off no matter how hard it was rubbed."

There was a pause from Nancy's end:_ "And how did paint get onto the seat?"_

"Well, I kinda did it by accident, but don't tell Frank cause he'll kill me." He listened to Nancy tittering. "How come dad didn't tell you this?"

"_He's not here right now, he's on his way to Pennsylvania with Jack Wayne. The_ _agency's been hired to look into a rash of cars that have been stolen – Frank's being the tip of the iceberg. Your dad is trying to track down another P.I. who disappeared while looking into it, and me and Con are concentrating solely on the cars."_

"Oh, I gotcha – you're doing a bit of freelance—" A sudden, violent movement from inside the house, followed by an ear-splitting yell abruptly hijacked Joe's attention. "—What the?!"

"_Was that Frank?" _Nancy asked, evidently having heard it too.

"Nancy, I gotta go!" Joe jabbered and dropped the phone in order to burst into the house.

Frank wasn't in the chair any more; he was standing in the middle of the living area looking shell-shocked and pale.

"Frank? You okay, man?" Joe asked.

Frank blinked a couple of times and pulled his shoulders back and squinted at his brother. "You're up then?" he muttered.

Joe put his palms against his chest and approached. "Dude, I've been up for a while. You were the one still asleep and shouting. Bro, what's goin' down?"

"Nothing. How's the cramp?"

"Gone. Did you go to bed last night or get any sleep?"

"Yeah, Joe, didn't you see me in the chair? I've been to bed and then got up to wait for you and nodded off again. I've been dressed for ages."

Joe sniffed. "So let me get this straight. Not only did you get dressed in yesterday's clothes, you decided to be extra specially thorough by including your jacket, done right up to the neck?"

Frank looked down at himself and shrugged. "I didn't want to disturb you by getting the fire goin'."

"Yeah right!" Joe snorted.

Frank's eyes shifted towards his bedroom. "I'm goin'—"

"—To the bathroom? Yeah, I get it." Joe said, as Frank strode away.

Joe returned to the porch and dialled Nancy again. She answered immediately.

"_What's going on?"_

"Did you know about Frank's nightmares?"

Nancy paused. _"Well yes, but he said they'd stopped."_

"Well, he was lying to you." Joe sighed, seriously irritated. "You know I said earlier that _'we're getting there'_? Well scratch that, we're most definitely not!"

****

Fenton drove the rental car out of the parking lot and double-checked the map on his lap to ensure he knew exactly where he was going. He didn't know the 'Quaker State' of Pennsylvania hugely well, although he'd been a few times in the course of duty. He was heading for Bradford County, which is where Senator Shandley and his wife lived, usually with their now missing daughter. Bobbie. They knew Fenton was on his way to see them, having phoned ahead the previous evening before letting Con know what he was going to be doing.

An hour later and he was downtown, red brick buildings lining the streets, many with flat-fronted shop fronts. He passed a cinema, the ubiquitous McDonalds and a white church with its clock towering above. It was an oil painting of a town, with mountains rising up around on all sides and lush green fields. This was largely a dairy farming community with the main transportation consisting of dozens and dozens of pick-up trucks. Fenton's shiny sedan car looking wholly out of place as it zipped along.

Pulling over not far from a gazebo that was occupied by unruly teenagers, he consulted his map again. His mind drifted as he stared at the document, wondering how on earth a girl like Bobbie from a place such as this had gotten involved in detective work. But then he smiled wryly and remembered Nancy Drew. He supposed that when the sleuthing bug called, there was little you could do to stop the burning need. He remembered how he drove his own parents to distraction by sticking his nose into other people's business, and how his sons had been exactly the same way.

Satisfied that he knew where he was going, he put the map down on the passenger seat and entered the traffic again to complete the final fifteen minutes of his journey.

"Ha!" he suddenly said to himself. The realisation had dawned that he'd spent months trying to persuade Con Riley to become not only a partner in the business but also his compadre, and he'd gone and turned him over to young Nancy. He snorted and laughed at himself in the mirror. "You jackass!" he jibed himself and turned the wheel to aim the nose of the car into the Shandley's long driveway.

At the end of that long entranceway loomed an impressively large red brick colonial house, the front of which had six columns standing to attention and holding up a gabled roof. Fenton cocked an eyebrow. "Well, politics pays well, that's for sure!" He pulled up outside, exited the car and stepped up to the white front door. Pressing on the bell, he heard it clanging inside and could tell before the door even opened that he would be seeing a large entrance and hallway on the other side that was probably bigger than the whole ground floor area of his own home. And he wasn't wrong.

"Can I help you?" asked a middle-aged woman.

This wasn't either of the Shandley's, Fenton was sure of that. This person didn't have the natural dignified stance of someone of a high social standing. "I've an appointment with Senator Shandley and Mrs Shandley."

"You're Agent Hardy?" she asked.

"That's right," he said and remembered to pull his badge from his pocket and show it to her.

"Come right on in." Smiling, she waved him through. "Please, would you wait in the library and I'll let the Senator know you're here."

She led him across the hallway and into another room, which housed wall-to-wall mahogany bookcases and smelled of musty paper. He turned back to her after quickly scanning the area.

"Can I get you anything while you're waiting – tea, coffee?" she asked.

"No thank you," Fenton replied, trying not to appear intimidated by these people's obvious wealth. People of a certain social standing always made him feel irrationally jumpy and he couldn't trust himself not to go and tip a drink all the way down his front, a hangover from being raised poor.

The woman left the room, closing the double doors after her and he listened as her clipped footsteps faded into the distance.

He turned back to the room and started wandering around, looking absent-mindedly at the books, noting on a subconscious level that there wasn't anything on the shelves that had been published at least during the last forty years or more. Considering this was a library, there wasn't one speck of dust in the whole room – impressive!

Presently, he approached a side table and worked his way along a line of photographs until he came to one that contained a picture of Bobbie Shandley. She was standing between two people who he assumed must be her parents as she was a mixture of the both of them. Not at all like Joe and Frank. Joe bore a more than passing resemblance to Laura – blond and blue eyed, whereas Frank was like himself – dark, a fact he was always being constantly reminded of! He picked up the picture and carried on looking at it.

Presently the door opened and he jumped and spun around, feeling like a snoop and an interloper.

"Ah, I see your professional curiosity is already in full swing," said a sturdy looking man who'd entered the room. "Senator Arnold Shandley," he introduced himself and walked forward to take Fenton's hand.

"Hello Senator, I'm Mr—"

"—Fenton Hardy, Private Investigator."

Fenton raised his eyebrows in surprise. "How did you know? I introduced myself on the phone and to your employee as an FBI agent – I must be slipping!"

"Not at all. You're not the only one who has a natural curiosity. I assumed it would be you or one of your sons when I heard the surname. You don't have a daughter who's preoccupied with detectives not to recognise one of her favorites on sight!"

"Oh I see." Fenton said, not knowing what to say. Instead he raised the photograph. "Your daughter is a pretty girl."

"Yes she is," Senator Shandley agreed. "And now she's missing." His eyes latched onto the picture and he stared at it for a few seconds before turning away to take in the view across the grounds through one of the floor to ceiling windows.

At the instant the Senator had stared at the picture, Fenton had mentally read his expression and countenance and knew what it meant – worried desolation and helplessness. It was a reflection of his own face from when Frank had disappeared all those weeks ago and Joe had been so badly hurt. He had to fight the almost impossible-to-ignore urge to slip a supportive arm around the man's shoulders.

Fenton could hear the shake in Mr Shandley's voice when he said: "The police, they try to say the correct things, but they can't possibly understand. This is just another job to them, of that I'm convinced. They keep inferring that she has simply run away, but I keep telling them that she had no reason to leave. But I'm no fool, I can tell they think my daughter is dead and are looking for a body. They're saying what they think we want to hear. The horrible truth is that the longer Bobbie is gone, the more I'm starting to fear the worst myself."

"It's not simply another job to me," Fenton assured him. "And believe me, I understand only too well."

Senator Shandley turned back to him with a doubtful expression.

Seeing the scepticism in Arnold Shandley's face, Fenton said. "Let me show you something."

Replacing the photograph of Bobbie on the table, he retrieved his wallet from his inside pocket and slid out a picture. He took a step closer to the Senator and showed it to him. "This is my wife Laura with our sons," he pointed. "That's—"

"—Joe Hardy," the Senator interrupted.

"You have done your homework!" Fenton said in admiration. "Joe's my youngest and is always getting himself into trouble, too headstrong for his own good." He pointed to the other side of his wife. "And that's—

"—Frank Hardy."

Fenton smiled. "Yep. He's my oldest and usually the more sensible one of the two. However, several weeks ago, he went missing after becoming involved in something nasty, just like your Bobbie. We didn't know what happened to him either. But we never gave up hope and when we found him, he—" Fenton stopped dead, realising that giving any more details would do nothing more than alarm Mr Shandley further and could even be construed as cruel. What he was meaning to demonstrate was that he only too well understood what Senator Shandley and his wife were going though, not to scare him silly. He left the end of the sentence hanging and continued, barely missing a beat: "—but we got him back and alive, and that was really all that matters."

"Was your son well when you found him?" Arthur Shandley asked, obviously not having missed the way Fenton had caught himself.

Looking sharply at him, Fenton was about to lie, but saw that this was not a man who could be duped or would appreciate someone watering the truth down, he'd obviously had his fill of that already. "No, not really, still isn't."

"I'm sorry to hear of that, Mr Hardy."

"Don't be. It's taking some time, but he's slowly clawing back. He'll be fine, Joe will see to that." He returned the picture to his wallet with his mouth set in a firm line. "So you see, I do understand. Believe me, you won't be getting any empty promises from me; all you'll get is honesty and a tenacious doggedness. I'll put every ounce of my energy into locating Bobbie, every bit as much as I did with my own son. I'll find her, one way or the other – I'm a father too, you see."


	8. Chapter 8

**Boosting - Chapter 8**

Frank had left the cabin's keys on the dining table the night before and for some reason, all the way through breakfast; Joe's eyes kept on straying back to them. He couldn't work out why at first, but he eventually did. There was a mysterious padlock key housed on the bunch with the front door and patio keys, but he didn't have a clue what it was for. "What do you reckon this unlocks?" he asked Frank eventually, picking it up.

Frank shrugged with disinterest. "Dunno."

"Aren't you the least bit curious?"

"Not really."

"Dude, you have been stripped of your investigator DNA, haven't you?"

Frank laughed and stood up to collect the plates and take them to the kitchenette. "Joe, if it means that much, go and look for what it opens. Knock yourself out…not literally, of course." He squeezed some dish detergent into the basin and started running the hot water faucet, dropping the plates in at the same time and returning for the rest of the cutlery and cups.

"Right, I will!" Joe said and left the table.

He walked around the cabin, trying to see where there was a lock that the key would fit, but coming up empty, even venturing into Frank's room. He eventually returned to his brother who was drying the dishes and silverware and putting them away and loitered, looking at Frank expectantly until he was finally asked:

"Any luck?"

"Nope."

"Try outside."

Joe smiled. "See, I'd never have thought of that. Told you it would be impossible for you to ignore your detective roots for long!"

Frank shot Joe a withering look and flicked the towel with an audible snap, sending Joe skittering backwards out of range. "Thin ice, Joe, extremely thin ice!"

"Aw man!" Joe muttered and headed for the patio doors. He opened them and stepped outside to survey the area. Looking to the right, he suddenly discerned a small jetty stretching out into the water that they hadn't noticed the day before as it was partially obscured by trees. Joe walked down the steps and moved forwards a way to broaden his visual aspect, and was able to see that next to it, half on the shore and half in the water stood what appeared to be a boathouse, not unlike the one their father had rented for them when they were kids for their small motorboat 'Sleuth'. He started heading straight for it, confident that he'd found what the key was for.

"Hey, wait up, Joe!" said a voice behind him, so he slowed down sufficiently enough to allow his slightly limping brother to catch up with him.

"Couldn't resist the urge?" Joe asked and winked.

"Maybe."

Joe opened his mouth to deliver a sarcastic retort, but Frank interrupted him before he could.

"—Say nothing."

Before long, they were both standing in front of the side door and Joe was lifting a padlock up. "Well, let's see if this fits!" He inserted the key and turned it. Sure enough, the lock clicked and fell open in his hand. He worked it free of the hasp and Frank pulled the door across on its squeaky runners.

There, bobbing gently in front of them on the water was a motorboat, the exact same model as the 'Sleuth' had been – a sleek, four-seater with an outboard motor, steering wheel and windshield. It was painted white with a blue stripe along the top of the hull. They both turned as one in surprise and regarded one another, grinning widely and stupidly.

"Have you been playing me, bro?" Frank asked, flabbergasted. "Did you plan this all along?"

"Uh-uh, I swear I didn't. I wish I had though!" Joe answered, equally as bemused. He gave his brother a good-natured jostle. "What a weird coincidence, huh?"

*****

Fenton Hardy was continuing his interview with Senator Shandley, Bobbie's father, but they were now in armchairs facing one another. Mr Hardy had taken a chance on a coffee and had managed thus far not to spill any.

Mr Shandley set his cup down. "Mr Hardy, you are without doubt the first person who has spoken to me like I'm a human being rather than a statistic. I would have liked to have introduced you to my wife, but she's been taken ill; literally sick with worry. She'd have taken such comfort by your presence."

"Thank you." Fenton said. "I was lucky in that my wife was away when Frank went missing, so she didn't experience all the worst parts of what happened to us. How did Bobbie get involved in the case? I must admit I was surprised at how inexperienced she appears to be?"

"She is inexperienced, but she has dabbled, and not unsuccessfully I might add. But the one area where she is practised in is twisting me around her little finger. Unfortunately, I can deny her nothing!" he shook his head in disgust at himself. "She overheard a discussion I was having with one of my colleagues about a rash of cars being stolen and she convinced me to allow her to look into it. I'm afraid I used my influence as a senator to have her hired – she viewed it as her first professional step onto the ladder. I didn't see the harm at the time; they were only vehicles, and I thought that once she got it out of her system, that she would go back to college and that would be the end of it. I'm afraid to admit that I was naive!"

"College?" Fenton asked in surprise. "Exactly how old is Bobbie?"

"Nineteen next birthday."

Fenton's jaw dropped. "I didn't realise she was quite that young!"

"Oh yes, just eighteen." The Senator continued: "One day, she came home and announced to my wife that she was going to look into a 'lead'. I was out at a meeting, so I didn't see her myself before she left. It was a case of _"That's nice dear!"_ and my wife went out shopping and left her to it. And that was literally the last time either of us heard from our daughter. You cannot fathom the burden of culpability we have both suffered from ever since."

"Yes I would!" Fenton assured him. "When was that?" he asked.

"Eight days ago, and counting."

"Did she give any clues as to where she was going?"

"Believe me Mr Hardy, my wife and I have wracked our brains trying to remember anything she might have said that would have given any indication as to where she was going, but she didn't tell us a thing."

"Were any of her clothes missing, perhaps a suitcase?"

"Yes there was enough for a few days away, longer if she used a laundry service."

Fenton took a sip of his coffee and looked out of the window across the grounds, thinking about what Senator Shandley had told him. He turned back. "Have you a list of what she took, and can you tell me what she was wearing?"

Mr Shandley immediately pulled out a drawer in the table they were sitting at and extracted a sheath of papers, which he handed over. "We prepared a full inventory for the police, including what she was wearing that day."

"Can I take this with me?" Fenton asked, flicking through each page quickly.

"Of course."

"Has she been accessing her bank accounts, her phone, e-mails perhaps?"

"No, nothing like that and the police have been monitoring them. Other than Bobbie withdrawing a large amount of cash from her bank account on the first day, there's been nothing else since, and no phone calls have been made at all from her mobile."

"Okay, one last thing," Fenton was dreading asking this question, but he ventured anyway. "Would you and your wife mind if I have a look in Bobbie's room?"

Senator Shandley shot Fenton a perverse look. "The police have already thoroughly searched her room!"

Fenton leaned back in his chair. "I know, and I realise what an intrusion it is into Bobbie's privacy, but sometimes the police miss things – trust me, you were right to assume that this is just another job for them. But to me, and people like me, it's an obsession, and we don't stop until we get to the truth."

There was a long silence while the Senator watched Mr Hardy, and Mr Hardy watched the Senator. Eventually, Mr Shandley was the one to break the impasse: "Well, I suppose if it's a balancing act between Bobbie's safe return and her privacy, there can only be one winner." He slapped the arms of the chair and rose himself. This way Mr Hardy—"

They began to leave the room together.

"Please, call me Fenton."

"Arnold." Mr Shandley reciprocated and took Fenton across the tile floored front entrance to the main staircase. They began climbing and walked past a number of doors until they came to one with a plaque that read 'Bobbie'. The Senator swung the door open and prepared to enter.

Fenton put a restraining hand on his arm before he could finish his move. "Do you mind if I do this alone, Arnold?" Fenton asked. "I know it's asking a lot, but I find it easier to center my mind without the distraction of someone else being there, I'd much prefer to go in cold. Trust me, it's the best way."

"I find I do trust you, Fenton," Mr Shandley said without hesitation. "I'll be waiting in the library when you've finished, so come and find me."

"I appreciate your confidence." Fenton said.

Senator Shandley nodded stiffly and walked away, leaving Fenton to finally enter. He stepped over the threshold, shut the door behind him and went to sit on the bed. Looking around him, he started to process.

*****

Joe entered the boathouse and stood at the side of the walkway looking down into the boat, feeling the tug of familiarity. He jumped down into the stern and bent over the front seats to look at the controls. "The key's in the ignition," he reported.

"There's fishing equipment here as well," he heard Frank say, his voice sounding hollow and echoing in the watery chamber.

Joe turned to find Frank was surveying a choice of rods that were hanging on hooks from the wall. He leaned his rump against the back of the seat. "Do you think we—"

"­—Should take a fishing trip?" Frank finished for him and looked across and grinned. "Why the hell not? Obviously the use of the boat came with the cabin or we wouldn't have been supplied with a key."

Joe smiled back and then it slipped. "Problem…no bait!"

"Baloney!"

Immediately irritated, Joe crossed his arms and glared back. "Frank, pull your head in! I know you didn't get much sleep last night, but seriously, man!"

Frank frowned in confusion. "Uh? Wha…no, I didn't mean it like that – there's a bologna sausage in the refrigerator that we can use as bait." He tipped his thumb over his shoulder towards the cabin.

"Oh—"

"Jeeze Joe, touchy much!" He started heading out the door. "I'll go and get it shall I while you load up? Unless you want me to stay so you can carry on taking verbal pot-shots at me!" Frank muttered, as he disappeared around the corner out of sight, only to appear seconds later walking along the shoreline towards the cabin, still complaining under his breath, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Good one, Joseph." Joe berated himself and stepped back up onto the walkway. He began rummaging around, selecting suitable rods and dropping things onto the boat's deck.

Joe soon forgot about their misunderstanding, and evidently so had Frank who returned a little while later with some other bits and pieces, humming tunelessly under his breath.

"Here you go," Frank said, handing Joe his jacket.

"Thanks," Joe said, accepting it from him and dropping it onto the bench seat in the back of the boat. Frank's own coat hit the deck a second later as he did the same. "Probably won't need it. It's warm today." Joe observed.

"Might not feel quite so warm once we get out into the open water."

"True. Ready to go?" Joe asked, climbing over into the front seat to take the wheel.

Frank remained standing on the walkway, looking down. "Um…yeah, except—"

"—Except?"

Frank began rubbing his knee. "I can't step down that far. No way my leg will allow that!"

Joe stared at Frank's kneecap, which was right in his eye line and mentally estimated the drop. "I see what you mean." He clambered back over into the stern, widened his stance to give the boat more stability, and offered his hand.

Grasping onto his brother's proffered palm and bracing his other hand against Joe's shoulder, Frank jumped awkwardly down with Joe attempting to lessen the impact of his landing by catching him around the waist and slowing his descent.

They ended up eye-to-eye, still clinging to one other and swaying. With a little shuffling and treading on of toes, they managed to stay on their feet.

Joe smirked. "May I have this dance?" he asked, realising the pose they found themselves in. "I'll lead." He pirouetted and turned his brother, and even though Frank tutted, he had a good-natured grin on his face. However, as soon as Frank was positioned towards the front, Joe suddenly found himself shoved backwards and partnerless – forced to watch as Frank deftly scrambled fore to claim the captain's position.

Taken by surprise, Joe spluttered: "What the—

Frank just laughed at him.

"You're no lady! Could you get into the boat the entire time?"

"Of course I could, I'm not that helpless. No way was I goin' to let you get away with piloting this baby first! All's fair in love and war, brother. Now go and open the roll-top door."

"So totally not fair, dude!"

*****

Bobbie Shandley was without doubt a 'girlie girl', not a tomboy. Everywhere Fenton Hardy looked in her vacant and lonely bedroom, there were pinks and purples. Not in a sickening, Barbie way, but with an indication towards femininity, not unlike Vanessa. He also recognised something of a compulsive personality. There were collections of various things displayed, such as _Beanie Babys_ with their original tags intact and put on view behind glass in a cabinet, and a batch of unusually shaped Avon perfume bottles settled into small related groups on the dressing table.

On the shelves, there were at least three separate book series. He got up and looked at the book collections and saw that each volume had been carefully displayed according to the order they were published. A notebook was at the start of each section. He pulled one out and opened it to find it was a list of each book, with publisher's date, a synopsis of each story and a tick next to which one's she had acquired and which she was outstanding. Bobbie was obviously an organised individual. Fenton considered that this was not a girl who would ordinarily walk into a situation without fully considering all angles and probabilities.

Something suddenly struck him as odd. Considering Mr Shandley had told him that she was interested in real life investigators, there wasn't any evidence of this. Her imaginary detective friends were only too evident in the serial books, but the real ones…where was the confirmation of that interest?

He started searching the room, opening up drawers, looking under the bed, the mattress, in the closet. He didn't find anything.

"Hmm," Fenton muttered, intrigued, and started inspecting the wall to wall carpet instead, moving around the edges of the room to see if it appeared to have been lifted in any way. Eventually, his foot hit a loose floorboard by the furthest corner, a squeaking noise emanating forth. Bending, he carefully pulled back the rug and found a board underneath with a knothole. He put his finger in and lifted. Underneath, he found Bobbie Shandley's hiding place.

"You can fool some people some of the time, Bobbie!" Fenton pulled the notebook free that from off the top of the jewellery boxes, replaced the board, and dropped the carpet back into place.

He went and sat down at her desk and started leafing through the book. He quickly realised that she'd been making a careful log of as many P.I.s as she could – not only the Hardys. It included photographs, press cuttings, contact details and she'd also noted down her thoughts. Oscar Smuff's page had some very interesting comments – darned insulting in parts! Fenton started to chuckle and by the time he'd reached the sections about him, Sam Radley and his sons, he was laughing out loud, especially at the comments she'd made about Joe. _'Wow, look at him!' _she'd jotted, and _'It's official! I've reserved a place for Joe Hardy under my bed!'_

"Jailbait!" Fenton remarked and laughed some more. He liked this girl!

Eventually, and as he fully expected, he got to a page dedicated to Nancy. She'd made extensive notes on his son's girlfriend, obviously completely fascinated with her, viewing her as a kindred spirit. Fenton supposed that Nancy was a bit unusual in that not many women went into his line of work, and certainly not flying solo as Nancy did. In fact, few men did that, including himself. She was the only real-life female detective in the book.

His eyes moved to the bottom of the page and something made him pause. In dark writing and underlined were the words. "March 13, River Heights." Fenton made a quick calculation, confirming that had been the day after Bobbie had gone missing. He'd been successful in uncovering where she had been heading that day. Ironically, she'd been on her way to visit Nancy, but of course, Nancy hadn't been at home. But that didn't mean she didn't speak to someone at the Drew's residence.

He knew where he was heading next.


	9. Chapter 9

**Boosting - Chapter 9**

"C'mon Frank!" Joe said loudly, attempting to divert him from his revelry.

Frank pulled back on the throttle and took the speedboat into another tight turn, curving the boat around until the bow was pointing the other way, leaving a foaming wake in its path. The outboard engine roared loudly as it was lifted out of the water.

Joe was gripping the side of the boat tightly, enjoying himself immensely, but his brain was confused and concerned as to why his older brother was driving so erratically and out of character. Frank's forearm flexed, ready again to thrust the throttle all the way forward, so Joe put his hand over his brother's fist and levered his hand free. "Frank, quit it will you? What's goin' on?"

Frank looked back indecipherably and pulled his hand free. It was almost like he'd just realised someone else was next to him. "Having fun is all."

"Are you sure about that, dude?"

"I'm sure."

"You never used to pilot the Sleuth like that."

"Didn't I?"

"No you didn't, and you'd give me a hard time if I did." Frank didn't offer any other explanation, so Joe nudged him. "Give way, bro, I'm having my turn." Joe began to get up, putting his hand under Frank's elbow to ensure he arose with him.

Frank swung himself over into the back of the boat and stretched out across the bench seat.

Joe slid across into the now vacant place and prepared to put some speed on.

"Careful Joe," Frank said, a teasing tone to his voice. "This might be the one woman who's too hot for you to handle!"

"I don't think so. No woman can resist my gentle strokes." Joe said self-righteously. "Like most woman, you just have to treat her with the respect she demands and has become accustomed to. And this baby will be no exception. Watch and learn, brother, she'll roll over just as easily." He pushed the throttle slowly forward and the outboard began to hum. The boat shot forward a little way, and then suddenly juddered and the engine stalled.

"Okay Joe – this particular lady obviously doesn't think much of your patented technique!" Frank said and hooted into laughter.

Joe grimaced and switched the engine off before turning the key and pressing on the ignition switch. The outboard made a whining sound and turned over, but there was no forward thrust. "Terrific!" he muttered, trying once more but getting the same result.

"Sounds and feels like something's snagged around the propeller." Frank offered.

"Yeah it does." Joe jumped over into the back while Frank scooted to one side to allow his brother to lean out over the rear. "I hope that's all it is, or we're gonna be stranded!" Joe rolled up his sleeve and thrust his hand into the water to delve about. "Yuk! There's something there all right, but I can't tell what it is. Feels slimy. I'm goin' to have to take a closer look-see."

Frank stood up and moved right out of his way, backing up against the front seats so Joe could release the catch and tip the engine forward.

The instant the propeller was within Joe's eye-line, he let off an ear splitting screech and back peddled wildly. He rammed into Frank, hurling him unceremoniously over into the front. But Joe didn't stop there, he kept going until he was scrambling wildly over the seats and the windshield and finally onto the top of the bow. With the boys' combined weight, the boat listed Titanic-style nosewards causing Joe to slide all the way forward, the only thing stopping him from slipping into the water being the nose-rail.

"Joe, what's wrong with you?" Frank shouted, bobbing back up. "You nearly kicked me in the face and now you're goin' the right way to sinking us!"

"Snake!" Joe spluttered, white as a sheet.

"What?"

"Snake!" Joe said again, and pointed a trembling finger towards the engine. "There's a snake coiled around the propeller. And I touched the thing!" he exclaimed, visibly shuddering and wiping his palm madly against his jeaned leg.

"Don't be stupid," Frank said, reasonably. "Why would a snake be coiled around the propeller? It makes no sense, come back over." He offered his brother a hand.

"Frank, I'm not seeing things, there's a snake there, and you know how much I hate snakes. I'm not comin' back until it's gone."

Frank shook his head and rolled his eyes, but he did climb over the seats and head for the outboard motor. As soon as he began to move towards the stern, his shifting weight caused the boat to begin to right itself again. He boosted himself up onto the back of the bench seat and leaned over to peer at the propeller. He stared for a few seconds, frowned, and moved his face even closer. Surprised, Frank said: "You're right, you weren't imagining it!" He rolled up his cuffs, and, to Joe's horror, returned to the propeller and started untangling the creature.

"Frank, don't touch it!" Joe shouted, mortified. "You'll get bitten!"

"How else do you expect me to get rid of it? Anyway, don't worry, it's not poisonous, I know what breed of snake it is." Frank said calmly, not stopping.

"Dude!"

Frank looked back with a smirk and said, "Catch!" and threw it over arm.

It landed with a splat right in front of an aghast Joe Hardy, coming to rest up against the gunwale. Then began another drawn out period of horrified screaming and immediate scrambling transference of body weight towards starboard, causing the boat to start rocking madly again.

Frank then joined in the yelling as he nearly ended up in the drink, barely grabbing onto the outboard in time to prevent himself from going over the side. "For pity's sake, Joe, it's a length of bungee cord!" he shouted. "Stop being such a big baby!"

Joe had realised almost at the same time that it was a stretchy elastic cord, but it still took him a few long seconds before he felt secure enough in his knowledge for his frayed nerves to begin to accept it. He eventually leaned forward and inspected it, going very pink in the face. "Well, you can't blame me, Frank, look at the color of it, it looked snake-like to me."

"It's got dirty great hooks on each end!"

"Well, I didn't see any hooks, I just saw the shape and color!"

Shaking his head, Frank pushed the engine casement back into place. "Test the engine Joe and quick, before its mother comes looking for it."

"Ha ha, so very funny!"

*****

Con's phone rang in the offices of Hardy, Riley and Sons. He snatched it up so as not to disturb Nancy who was holding a phone conversation of her own. "Lieutenant…I mean…Con Riley," he said, tripping over his words.

"_You're going to have to watch yourself with that, Riley,"_ said a booming voice, instantly recognisable as a guffawing Ezra Collig. _"Impersonating a police officer is a serious offence!"_

"It's a fair cop – I'll turn myself in later! What can I do for you, Chief?"

"_Keeping you boys up-to-date on what's been happening. Another car was stolen last night. A high-end one."_

"Blast it! What type of car was it?"

"_A_—_"_ there came the sounds of shuffling paper before Collig answered. "—_A __1957 Ford Fairlane. Very nice, two-tone sky blue and white with matching blue leather seats. Taken from right here in Bayport in the middle of the night. Worth a whole bunch of money!"_

Con's mind was ticking, already formulating a plan. "Thanks Chief, it might work to my advantage that you've let us know so quickly. Can you fax me the rest of the information – the crime report, statements etcetera?" He gave Chief Collig their fax number.

"_I can have it emailed if you'd prefer?"_

Con bared his teeth at his PC. "No thanks don't email it, the old-fashioned way will do."

While he'd been talking, Nancy had finished her call and was perched on the edge of Fenton's desk listening to the conversation. She caught the poisoned look Con shot his computer and giggled.

"_One more thing, Riley, this morning, my Secretary handed me a letter that you might find interesting."_

"What's that, Chief?"

"_I've been asked to provide a character reference for one of your lads, for Frank, from Digitech World – they're a computer company aren't they?"_

Con sighed, a feeling of dread washing over him. "Give me a second, Chief." He reached to pick up the pile of mail that was facing him on his desk. He quickly fanned through them until he found a white windowed envelope stamped 'Private & Confidential'. It had the Digitech logo on the top and was addressed to himself. Tearing it open, he pulled the letter out and scanned it. "I got one as well," he reported to Ezra Collig.

"_Am I understanding this correctly…is Frank looking for a position, applying for vacancies away from the agency?"_

"Affirmative." Con caught Nancy's eye and passed the letter to her. After a cursory glance, she began chewing her bottom lip and left to enter the other office, reading it through.

"_I know this sounds trite, but I wished I'd known, I have a position here that would have suited the lad down to the ground_—"

"—Let me interrupt you there Chief, before you get any more ideas in your head. Frank isn't interested in anything to do with Police or Investigative work. He's been applying for vacancies well outside of that sphere."

"_Oh, I see – outside of detective work? Well, I don't mind saying that it's knocked me for a loop." _

Con had a clear image in his head of his ex-boss at his desk, rapping his hairy knuckles against the tabletop with a heavy frown of confusion on his chiselled, military features.

"_Should I reply to the request? Will I be treading on anyone's toes?"_

"No. Fenton's very much aware of what's goin' on."

"_And his other boy…Joe?"_

"Yeah, Joe knows—" Con left the sentence hanging. He didn't want to say anything that Joe might be angry with him about later.

"Ah, say no more. I'll fax the car info to you. You boys sound like you've got your hands full."

"You could say that. Bye Chief."

As soon as he'd replaced the phone, Con left his seat to seek Nancy out. He found her in Joe's chair staring at the letter that was lying on top of a pile of media paperwork. "You okay, Drew?"

"The job title," she said, picking up the letter and turning it around so Con could see what was in the subject line. "It's not the job that Frank was called to be interviewed for. It's a different one, a better one. I think they're going to offer it to him or there'd be no reason to send for references. My God, Con, he actually did it!" she half smiled, but then it dropped. "This is brilliant for him, but what am I going to tell Joe?"

Con raised his hands. "How's about nadda. It's up to Frank to tell him, surely?"

Nancy chewed her lip again thoughtfully. "You're right. I can't even tell Frank because I'm not supposed to be here. If I tell Joe and he fronts Frank on it, and knowing Joe, that's exactly what he'd do, Frank would find out I didn't go home. Better I keep this to myself."

Con nodded and took the letter from her. "And in the meantime, I'm goin' to write the kid such a brilliant reference that it'll make Digitech's HR Department's heads spin. By the time I'm finished, they'll be offering him the Chief Executive's post!" He folded the communication and pushed it into his top pocket with a wink. "C'mon kiddo, let's worry about the case for now and put the Frank situation on the back-burner."

There came a ringing and whirring noise as the fax machine began printing.

"Speak of the devil, here comes the details on that stolen Ford Fairlane from the Chief."

"I overheard what you said to Chief Collig about not wanting the information emailed. You do realise you're going to have to get your head around computers eventually, don't you?" Nancy asked.

Con sighed. "Yes, I know, but they fill me with horror," he eyed his PC through the doorway like it was a stick of dynamite and narrowed his eyes. "It hates me you know, I'm convinced of it." His eyes moved to the window. "How many floors up are we again?" he asked, contemplating seeing if it could fly.

"I'll give you some lessons," Nancy offered.

"I might take you up on that, but other matters are pressing. Before I get into that though, I need to know what you've done about Frank's car."

"I've been phoning and putting the word out to every dealership in town under the pseudonym of 'Lucy' that I'm looking to buy a used Chevrolet Corvette convertible – but a nice one, and that I'm willing to pay good money for the 'right' one. Hopefully whoever has it will take the bait and they'll phone me."

She pointed towards Joe's PC. "And of course I've been checking out the Internet auction sites to see if I can spot it, but it either hasn't been uploaded yet, or they're not selling them that way. In one way, it would be easier to sell hot cars on the net – more anonymous – but on the other that would leave a data trail that they wouldn't want to leave. See how useful computers can be?"

Con gave a curt nod of agreement.

"What were you going to say, Con?"

Putting his finger up to make her wait, Con went to fetch the faxed print out. He was pleased to see that Chief Collig had included a photograph of the car itself, so he came back through and passed it to Nancy whose eyes widened at the sight of it.

"Wow, that is one hot-rod!" she exclaimed. "I imagine this was owned by a man, and I imagine that he's not very big—" she realised immediately what she'd inferred and who'd she'd inferred it to. "—And by 'not very big', I of course mean…in height?" she raised her face to him and went beet red.

Con deadpanned down his nose at her.

"Sorry, tried to save myself, failed miserably."

Finally, Con exploded into a belly laugh. "I drive a little car myself!" he shot back.

"I'm sure you do, Con, I'm sure you do! So what was it you were proposing?"

"I was thinking that we wait and see if anyone contacts you about Frank's car, and if they do, what line of business they're in. If, for instance, it's one of the dealerships, I can approach them and ask if they've any contacts that could find a Ford Fairlane for me. A blue and white one…_because I had one when I was a teenager and would like one again_…catch my drift, Drew?"

"I do and it's a great idea! If whoever has Frank's car is part of the gang, and they're getting as greedy as we think they are, they're likely to grab onto the chance of selling it with both hands." Suddenly frowning, Nancy's eyes dropped to Joe's desk and began scanning.

Con continued. "Plus, even if the car was stolen to order, the beauty of it being a Ford Fairlane is that it's not so unusual that another couldn't be stolen to replace the one that might get sold to me. Not that it would be much fun for whoever has the second one boosted, but if it exposes the crooks, it'll be worth the risk."

Nancy stood and started sniffing the air, sorting gingerly through the contents of Joe's desktop.

"What are you looking for?" Con asked.

"Can you smell something bad, Con? Something rotting?"

Con stepped forward and started snuffling himself. "Yeah, I can now that you mention it…oh no…don't say he's—" He passed around to the front of the desk and slid open the top drawer, inside was half of the bagel that Joe had been eating two days previously, propped up behind it was a handwritten note that said _'GOTCHA!' _The bagel wasn't in good shape, it was furry and putrid, the ham filling particularly ripe and sweaty. Con placed his hand against Nancy's shoulder. "Stand back little lady - this could blow any second!!"

"Ew!" Nancy exclaimed, looking around Con to see what he'd found. She shuffled quickly away. "That's disgusting!"

Con wrinkled his nose and took up a piece of paper to discard of the offending article into the trashcan. "There. I disarmed it," he reported. "Move along, nothing to see here!"

"What on earth is Joe doing leaving that in his drawer?"

"I think it was a lame attempt to wreak revenge for a prank I pulled."

"I'm going back to Fenton's desk. At least there I'm unlikely to come down with salmonella poisoning. It smells like something died here."

"What are you talking about, Drew? This is relatively tidy for Joe!"

She pulled a face in response and returned to perch on the edge of Fenton's desk again. "Back to what we were discussing before Joe's time bomb almost exploded in my face – I've had another idea, Con."

Con followed on to sit down at his desk. "Shoot!"

"Why not make it very public knowledge that you're looking for a Ford Fairlane, cast your net wider. I'm thinking that you could also put up adverts on those Internet auction sites—"

Con looked doubtfully at his computer.

"Don't panic, I can do that for you. It'll take minutes."

"What about classic car magazines?" Con asked putting his hand atop the stack of publications he'd brought into the office with him that morning. "Would those have internet sites that allow messages to be left?"

"Oh, invariably. A lot of them will have on-line communities where we can leave a message up."

"Let's do it!" Con enthused keenly and rubbed his hands together.

"This is working out nicely, Con. You've got the car expertise and a strong stomach, and I'm good with computers with a keen sense of smell. We're the perfect duo!" She put her hand up and Con joined her in a high-five.

"Quite right, Drew!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Boosting - Chapter 10**

After Frank had removed the 'snake', Joe had tested the speedboat by taking her on an out-of-control, stomach churning, speed run, up and down the lake for several turns. Eventually, he killed the throttle and turned back to Frank who was lounging across the back seat again. "She seems fine. Let's tie her off on that buoy over there and do some fishing."

"Okay."

So Joe took the boat at a moderate speed towards the orange buoy, and as he got closer, ceased the forward thrust so the boat coasted the remainder of the way, until he was almost nose-to-nose with the floating, soccer ball like object. He eased the wheel around and the rudder gently turned the boat until her side was to the buoy.

Frank reached out and spun the ball until the ring was around his side, and after two attempts, managed to tie the boat off using a round turn knot with two half hitches. "I'm out of practice!"

"I'm impressed you remembered at all."

Ten minutes later and they were both sitting in the boat after baiting up their hooks and casting them into the water.

Joe glanced across at Frank, who was nearly opposite him, stretched along the bench seat. Joe was emulating his pose, but across the passenger seat with his ankles crossed on the driving seat. "How long has it been?"

"How long has what been?"

"Since we last did this – fishing, I mean."

"Aw man, it's gotta be…what…three years or more?"

"We oughta do this more often." Joe carried on surreptitiously watching sideways as Frank harrumphed softly and started showing a close interest in his reel, spinning the handle backwards and forwards.

Joe scratched his chin thoughtfully and ventured forth with: "But do you know what I really miss, dude?"

There was a pause before his brother responded, warily. "What's that?"

"Spending time with you at work."

"Joe—"

"—Because it's not the same without you."

Frank looked away and seemed to be looking in the direction of the cabin, but Joe could see the muscles working feverously at the side of his jaw. "Joe, I…can't do it."

"Do what?"

"What you want me to do." Finally he turned to look back. "The work thing, it's too hard."

"Why, what's holding you back?"

Frank opened his mouth and Joe held his breath waiting for him to respond, but it slowly shut again and an almost frustrated look crossed his brother's features, quickly covered up a second later with a shrug. "I wish I knew."

But Joe wasn't fooled for an instant. Frank had given himself away with that look he'd tried so quickly to mask. He'd had something to say, all right, but had pulled himself back from the brink. Joe felt irritation rising. "What are you hiding now?"

"Hiding?"

"Yeah, what are you hiding?" Joe laid the rod down against his legs, forgotten for the moment and rested his arm across the back of the seat. "That's the way you used to look at me before. I thought at the time that it was down to Callie, but it wasn't the break up, was it? Well, maybe at first, but later, it was because you had this memory stick squirreled away. And look at the trouble your secreting got us into. Don't make the same mistake again!" As soon as the speech was out, Joe wished he could have bitten his own tongue off.

Frank had blanched at Joe's comments and his head had gone down, eye contact lost. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I'm not regretting what I did every single second of the day? I know the damage I caused and if I could take it back, I'd do it in an instant." His voice dropped to such a quiet tone that Joe had to strain to hear him. "If I had a time machine, I'd go back. I'd even sacrifice Nancy and me to do it, and that was the only good thing that came out of it."

Joe now understood how deeply Frank was regretting his actions, even to the point of being willing to lose Nancy to turn the clock back, and she meant more to Frank than anything else. Over the last few weeks, she'd barely left his side and he'd clung to her for support. She'd been his rock, walking in his footsteps and catching him when he'd fallen – and she'd had to save him so many times as he'd tripped and plummeted.

"Is that why you don't feel you can come back to work, in case you get into a situation like that again?" Joe asked, more gently this time.

Frank looked over his shoulder towards the shore and then down at his reel again. "Partly—" he raised the rod up to move the hook and emulate the movement of a fly.

"What if…HEY! I got a bite!" Joe suddenly said, the initial tug of a fish causing the rod to jerk in his lap. He forgot what he was going to say and sat up straighter pulling up his rod, feeling it getting yanked about even more strongly. He started slowly reeling in.

Then Frank started to get excited as well. "Unbelievable, I got one too!" and raised his own rod to start reeling.

"Tonight we eat like kings, dude!" Joe shouted. "This must be one huge fish, it's fighting me all the way."

"Mine too, Bro! What have we caught, a pool of sharks?"

Joe observed Frank giving his rod a massive pull, and at the same time, his own rod was almost ripped from his fingers. He started tittering and began letting the twine slowly out on his reel in time with Frank reeling in.

"What are you laughing at?" Frank asked, fighting to land his catch.

"I think this is a case of _'the one that got away'_!"

"Yours might have, but I've still got mine firmly hooked," Frank said, and then changed his mind as he saw exactly what his brother meant – his hook had finally emerged from the water, but instead of the large fish he was expecting to be snared and struggling, it was another hook…Joe's hook. "Huh?" He stared at it in amazement for a few seconds, and burst out laughing himself. "I caught a 6'0" monster!"

"Well I did better than you, I caught a 6'1" ugly mother…and it was THAT big!" Joe said, pulling his hands wide to demonstrate how big his 'fish' had been.

"Less of the 'ugly mother', bro, everyone knows I'm the looker of the team!"

"Keep telling yourself that—"

Frank reached to catch onto the twine and began untangling their hooks. "I think we both know there's some level of truth in what I said. Every day you have to validate your looks to yourself by chatting up every attractive girl you come into contact with. And if they don't respond, it drives you crazy! You're always over compensating."

"That's not true! I can't help it if the ladies find me irresistible, the work I put in is minimal."

"Keep telling yourself that," Frank shot back, using Joe's own phrase against him. "The work you put in isn't 'minimal'. Look at all the weight training you do. It's not to keep fit because there are much better exercises that will do that, it's to pile on the muscle, cause it makes you look better."

Joe couldn't help it; he glanced admiringly down at his own bicep and flexed it slightly making Frank laugh at him. He was starting to wonder whether his brother actually had a point. "You can talk, dude, you do tons of exercise yourself!"

"Yeah, but the difference is, I actually do it for fitness reasons, and the martial arts is for the job. Yours is for vanity and to impress the girls."

"Well, in that case, you might as well give up the kung-fu. It's not like you'll need it anymore, is it? Stop tryin' to psychoanalyse me, Frank."

"I'll stop as soon as you do. Don't think I don't know why you brought me here. The second Nancy was out of the way, you pounced. I hate having people rooting around in my head and I especially don't like being coerced into having it forced on me! Not nice is it?"

Joe didn't have any defence, but at least now the gloves were off, and bare knuckles were up. He wasn't about to allow his brother to be aware of his revelation at being second-guessed. "I suppose I oughta be surprised that you've worked out my intentions, but I'm not, because you're the king-o manipulation, ain't you, big brother?" It was a stinging blow.

Frank's eyebrows shot up. He was obviously back footed by Joe's from-the-hip attack. "I didn't want to…when I…I only—" but his speech ground to a halt and he turned away suddenly, dropping his rod onto the floor.

Joe continued. "What I don't understand, Frank, is that you were so keen on me getting myself sorted out after Iola died, you practically dragged me to my counselling sessions every week for those six months. But you, you're a closed book. Why can't you practice what you preached to me? It's like you're mentally paralysed by something. I wish you'd give me the chance to help you figure out what it is."

Frank drew his legs up and continued staring in the opposite direction. "I'm not like you, Joe. You're a better person than me," he confessed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're in tune with yourself, stronger, whereas I don't even know what's happening to me."

"Well let me help then!" Joe implored.

Frank's head shook just slightly and Joe suspected that the head movement had been involuntary, but he'd seen it nonetheless.

"Can we drop this, I'm getting a headache?" Frank muttered, and then, as if to illustrate the point, he made a big play of rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand and grimaced.

Joe started a slow clap. "Bravo, brother. Nice acting!"

"Leave me along, Joe, I'm not talking about it any more." Frank pushed himself from the seat and leaned over into the driver's position to shove Joe's feet off, and scooted over and into the chair. "I'm goin' back to the cabin. My head hurts. You can do what you like, bro."

Now that Frank was right next to him, Joe could see that his eyes were glazed over and listless. "You have got a headache, haven't you?"

"That's what I said." Frank said and momentarily lifted a hand to push his palm against his left eye. "I wasn't lying."

Joe felt like a complete heel. "Move over, let me drive."

"No, it's okay, it's not that bad. The sun's low in the sky and I've been looking into it the whole time. It's my own fault, I should have moved."

"A headache isn't a punishment, you don't have to struggle. Let me drive."

"Nah, it's okay." Frank flashed Joe a grateful smile and started the engine up.

Joe sighed, but leaned over to unhitch the rope from the buoy. "All clear."

Frank pushed the throttle forward and the boat started to move. About half way back, it started to cough. "Oh no – what's happening now!?" Frank wondered and they shared bemused looks. And then the engine stopped completely. "Oh joy!" Frank attempted to get it started again, but it wasn't having any of it.

"I'll go and take a look," Joe said, and made his way sternwards.

"Watch out for snakes!" Frank said, unhelpfully.

"You're goin' to get miles out of that aren't you?" Joe asked as he unhitched the engine again and tipped it forward.

"It's been good value so far. Can you see what the problem is?"

"Not yet." Joe unscrewed and dismantled the most obvious problematic parts and wiped them with his shirt before putting them back. "Try her again, Frank," he instructed finally.

Frank turned the engine over, but it was still the same. "The engine's not waterlogged is it?"

"Doesn't appear to be."

"Dammit! I'm comin' over." So Frank made his way back to take a look. He needed only to take a cursory glance. "Ah, I've found the problem—"

"Is it fixable?"

"Yep, and it's the easiest fix you can imagine – or it would be if we weren't drifting out here. She's run out of gas."

"What?!" Joe gasped and looked to find that his brother wasn't pulling his leg. "But the gauge is indicating that the engine's half full!" he leaned over the front seat and tapped the dial. As soon as he did that, the needle moved to zero. "Brilliant – a faulty reading. We're stranded. Now what are we goin' to do?"

Frank stood up and started removing his sweater. "The only thing we can do, I'm goin' to go and get the spare fuel from the boathouse and bring it back. You're goin' to stay with the boat and make sure she doesn't drift too far."

"Man! Are you crazy?"

"A little."

"You can't go swimming in that, what about your leg?"

"What about it? I've been swimming every other day for weeks, I could give a sea lion a run for its money." Frank sat and pulled his boots and socks off. "Stay here and don't do anything stupid."

And Joe watched with his mouth open as his brother, without another word, stepped up onto the bench seat, and shallow-dived straight off the side and into the water, so smoothly that he barely caused a ripple on the surface. And, if Joe's mouth could have opened any wider it would have, because Frank suddenly rose up free of the water and turned around to face him sheepishly. He was standing in barely three feet of water and he looked like he was freezing - neither of them had taken into account how frigid the water was at that time of the year.

"Say nothing!" Frank said through chattering teeth, his hair plastered down against his scalp and his transparent, white t-shirt soaked and clinging to his torso, jeans heavy with water.

Joe burst out into loud, uncontrollable guffaws. Hooting so helplessly that his stomach muscles started to cramp up, to the extent that his laughs were being interposed by uncontrollable groans of pain, but he couldn't stop.

Wordlessly muttering, Frank waded around to the front of the boat to grasp onto the line and start manually towing Joe and the boat in towards the boathouse.

*****

Con Riley was checking the stolen Ford Fairlane's paperwork again. "Good, the Chief has provided the owner's contact details. I'll give him a call and find out what this car might have that the others don't, or else I could end up with twenty of the things – as nice as they are, my garage will only hold two cars!"

After a conversation with the owner (who was absolutely thrilled that the Agency was on the case and that his car wasn't going to be forgotten about), Con was able to glean the information that this particular car had a modern CD player in it, but that it was covered by a false front plate to make it look like the original. "That'll make it a cinch to identify!"

By 6.30 pm, Nancy had about reached saturation point with uploading Con's requests. She'd set up an email address so that if someone decided to offer him the collectable Ford, they would have a way of contacting him without the crooks knowing whom they were dealing with.

Now it was a waiting game, for the both of them.

"Drew, I don't think we can do any more," Con decided and stood up to stretch. "Let's call it a day."

"I agree. Vanessa is waiting at the houseboat for me, we decided to go out and eat tonight. Why should the boys have all the fun?" She began turning off Fenton's computer.

"I like the way you think!" Con said lifting her coat down for her to slip her arms in.

"Thank you," Nancy said and went to retrieve her bag from under the desk. As she arose, a phone began to ring from within and she started in surprised. "That's the hot phone." She was referring to the prepaid cell that Frank had bought for her when they'd teamed up to outwit the Pandora Posse.

Nancy excitedly retracted it from her purse. "I gave the dealerships this number, rather that the offices or my own," she explained quickly and hit the green button. "Hello…yes, this is Lucy speaking…Yes, I am looking for a Chevrolet Corvette convertible, your friend wasn't mistaken…really? Oh, it sounds perfect – what color is it?…racing green…" her voice dipped slightly in disappointment. "…What about the inside?…" she continued, unperturbed. "…Black leather seats? And the carpet, it's that usual dark grey color I suppose?…Black as well huh?" she laughed. "…You know what us girls are like when it comes to colors…can I come down and see it, tomorrow if possible?…Great, let me get something to write on and I'll jot down the address."

Con had already snatched a pad and pen from off the desk and was shoving it in front of her.

She grabbed the pen and started scribbling. "Okay, got it. Tomorrow it is at ten. See you then." Nancy thoughtfully turned off phone. "That was interesting. It didn't sound like Frank's car at first as the bodywork is green, but the carpet being black makes it worth checking out."

Con was nodding in agreement. "It's certainly worth having a look as they could have already given it a re-spray. I'm glad to be comin' with you, though" he decided, holding open the door and exiting afterwards and locking up. "I wouldn't want you meeting up with a stranger on your own."

Nancy started down the stairs. "It's never a problem, Con, it's part of the job."

Con dropped a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from descending any further and resulting in her turning slightly to look back. She found him gravely staring down at her. "If anything was to happen to you on my watch, I fear Frank's kung-fu kicking feet would come into sharp contact with a sensitive and soft part of my body, and I don't rate my chances of beating him in an unarmed fight, even with him having an injured knee.

"Frank doesn't even know I'm helping you."

"C'mon, Drew, cut me some slack. I'm an old fashioned kinda guy and a gentleman at heart, and you're, well, a girl who's young enough to be my daughter. You can see my dilemma, can't you, kiddo? It's an age thing – humour me!"

She eyed him silently, her face emotionless.

"Don't give me a hard time with this—"

"I see your point, I won't do anything alone," she finally capitulated. "But you need to realise something – sometimes being a female in our line of business has its advantages." She tipped her head on one side. "You'll learn!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Boosting - Chapter 11**

Joe was suddenly awake. He picked up his watch from the nightstand and checked the time – 3.15 a.m. He'd only been in bed for three hours! He groaned in despair and returned the watch to the tabletop.

Unable to fall back asleep, he lay there, made himself comfortable and let his mind drift, going over what had happened that evening following his and his brother's mostly disastrous jaunt in the boat.

_Once they finally moored up the boat, Joe had sent Frank back to the cabin to clean himself up and find some pain killers and went about tidying everything away, still chortling to himself at the look on Frank's face when he'd loomed up tall out of the water like some sort of mythical merman. _

_By the time Joe had returned to the cabin, Frank had taken a shower and was lying on his bed with the lights out and the shades down; his forearm drooped across his face. Joe assumed Frank was dozing, as he didn't give any indication that he'd known Joe was peeking around the door. _

_Later that evening, though, Frank was largely pain free again so they'd travelled into town and had found a bar where they could shoot pool and hang out for a few hours. Joe always thrashed Frank at pool and today was no exception. _

_Eventually, after being soundly beaten for the third time, Frank admitted defeat, despite being begged for another game, and limped to a vacant table as Joe went to the bar for two more beers. Frank pulled his walking stick out from under his jacket and placed it down on the table top before removing his jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair._

"_Chicken!" Joe said, when he'd returned. He passed Frank's bottle across and straddled a stool opposite. "You hate being trounced, don't you? I'm so much better than you at pool, live with it, dude."_

"_I don't mind being beaten Joe, what I object to is your gloating afterwards. Can't you be gracious in victory? There was no need to raise your cue in air and whoop until everyone applauded!" _

"_You're joking aren't you, pal? I cherish these moments, there's not much I'm better than you at, let me have my celebration." _

_Frank smirked and took a chug of his beer, looking over Joe's shoulder at something. He carried on quickly taking glances once he'd put the bottle down and leaned his elbows on the table, to such an extent that Joe's curiosity overtook and he turned in his seat to see what was grabbing his brother's attention. _

_Behind him, there were three girls leaning up against the crowded bar. They all had their eyes trained on his brother, not one of them was taking any notice of Joe. Well, they were, but their gazes kept on shifting back to Frank, no matter how much Joe treated them to his 'special smile'._

"_What's up with that?" Frank eventually asked, embarrassed._

"_Dunno, but they're obviously—"_

"—_Crap, they're comin' over!" Frank interrupted and then glanced towards the exit looking for an escape route._

"_Be cool, bro. What's the worse that can happen?" Joe muttered quickly and turned to welcome them. _

"_Hi!" the blond said. "Anyone sitting here?" she asked, putting her hand on the back of the one empty seat. She was addressing Frank._

"_Um, no."_

"_Do you mind if we—" _

_Joe received a look from his brother, which Joe understood to mean, "Help". Unfortunately, the blond chick didn't quite register it in the same way. _

"—_Oh…sorry, I didn't realise you two were a couple, you don't look gay! Well, maybe you with the muscles an-all," she said, finally looking at Joe properly._

_Joe spluttered on his beer, a quantity of it spilling from his mouth down his front. "Aw jeeze! No, no way, we're not, you know…not that I've got a problem with it…you know? Each to his own." He started pointing from Frank to himself with one hand while rubbing his chin and shirt down with the other. "Not really my thing…our thing…I'm a woman's man…__all__ a woman's man! But I'm up with the pro-choice!"_

_Frank rolled his eyes. "I think what Joe is tryin' to say is that we're brothers. I'm Frank and this here is Joe. And no, the seat isn't taken, and no, neither of us is gay, and __definitely__ not Joe...apparently."_

"_Oh good." The blond said and sat down. Her friends, both brunettes fetched themselves chairs, parked themselves and looked expectantly at Frank again._

"_And you are?" Joe asked, deciding to jump in and help out his decidedly cornered looking brother._

"_I'm Jackie," the blond said. "And this is Martina and Nesta," she answered, indicating to each of her friends in turn. "They're sisters," she finished._

"_Pleased to meet you," Joe said and shook each hand in turn._

_Frank did the same with a lopsided grin. _

_As Martina took Frank's hand, she held on and said. "We're curious, Frank. Why the walking stick?"_

_Joe knew immediately that Frank was going to have a real issue with answering questions to do with his leg. He was already blinking and Joe could see the tell-tail signs of stress playing around his jaw line. _

"_He injured his knee playing football, didn't you, dude?" Joe said, out of the blue – it was the first thing he could think off. Joe knew that Frank wouldn't have liked to lie, but this meant that he didn't have to, because he __had__ blown his knee the first time playing football, so he had a ready story that didn't need massaging._

"_Yeah, that's right. I wrecked my kneecap during a particularly physical tackle," Frank immediately replied, and smiled at Joe. _

"_Told you," Nesta said. "That's five dollars, please girls!" she demanded and held her hand out._

_Joe watched nonplussed as each girl pulled out a bill from their back pockets and handed them across._

_Nesta smiled at Frank's surprised face and sniffed the money. "The sweet smell of victory!" She laughed. "We have a tradition when we meet up that we have a random bet. Today's was how you'd hurt your leg – of course, the fact the two of you are the best looking guys in the joint was a bit of a draw."_

_And then Joe's ego repaired itself as the girls started to not only show attention to Frank, but also to him._

"_So tell me, how did you two think my brother had hurt his leg?" Joe asked._

"_I thought he'd been born with some sort of defect." Jackie said._

"_And I bet he'd fallen over."_

"_I'm not so clumsy as to fall over that badly," Frank said._

_Joe fought the urge to remind Frank of all the bumps and falls they'd both had their share of._

"_No, I don't suppose you are." Jackie said and gazed at Frank, studying his features. "How did you do that?" she asked, and put her hand out to touch the left side of his face._

_Joe grimaced. He didn't notice any more as he'd become so used to it, but Frank's face was still sporting some battle scars from his argument with the Pandora Posse's gun when he'd been beaten with it. Even now, when his brother smiled, it was a little lopsided due to the nerve damage, and he now couldn't raise the one eyebrow when he used to be able to independently raise them both._

_He remembered when Frank had been told that the nerves possibly wouldn't ever totally recover. Frank hadn't seemed outwardly bothered, but Nancy had been distraught. Afterwards Frank had philosophised that, as there was little that could be done about it, there wasn't any point in getting overly wrought. However, Joe suspected that deep down, it __did__ bother him as he'd seen the way Frank looked at himself in the mirror. _

_The scars would eventually fade somewhat, but they could be plainly seen and Joe was sure they were a reminder every time Frank looked at his reflection. Joe's gunshot scar was far worse than Frank's, but his were on his stomach and back under his clothing, his brother's were on full view and that made a huge psychological difference._

_Frank flinched back away from Jackie's touch and went halfway to batting her hand clear, but stopped himself from actually making contact. However, the movement had been such that Jackie withdrew her hand at speed and almost hit Martina in the cheek. _

"_Sorry, I didn't mean to—" she blurted out._

"—_No, it's okay. Its…a little sore still – I was in an accident, but nothing to do with my knee."_

_Oh yes, Joe was more than sure that the facial damage worried his brother a lot more than he'd have them believe. Joe jumped in again to save his embarrassment: "Yeah, that's right, a car accident and the windshield got smashed and Frank got hit with glass." _

"_You poor thing!" Nesta said._

"_HEY__! What's goin' on here?" shouted an aggressive male voice suddenly from some distance away, but getting closer. They all looked across to see three men heading in their direction._

"_Oh, __just great__…sorry boys, it's my ex-boyfriend and his bozo friends." Martina muttered and stood up to face them. "What do you want, Justin?" _

_To Joe, Martina sounded like she was heartily sick and tired of this Justin._

"_Who are these guys?" Justin asked, tipping his thumb at Frank and Joe in turn._

"_None of your business!" Martina said. "Take a hike, Justin."_

"_Yeah, take a hike, Justin!" Joe said and stood up to stand behind Martina supportively. _

_Joe looked down at Frank expecting him to do the same, but he didn't. He was instead sitting very still with his face forward, his eyes fixed on something on the other side of the room. He assumed Frank was watching what was happening in his peripheral vision though. "Has he lost his nerve that badly?" Joe wondered to himself and groaned inwardly. He knew he could take two guys on his own, but three?_

_And then Frank did something that completely changed Joe's mind – he calmly picked up his beer and took a swig, and then leaned forward to lay his forearm on the tabletop and inspect the bottle's label. It wasn't that he'd lost his nerve; it was almost like he was disinterested._

_Justin gave Joe a good looking over and turned to his friends. "He's a brave one to mess with my girl ain't he?"_

"_I'm not your 'girl' any more, Justin," Martina said. "When is it gonna sink into your thick skull, you bozo?"_

"_When you stop whoring it all over town!"_

_Joe bristled and cocked a warning eyebrow. "I think you'd better leave, pal, before you say something you truly regret!"_

_Justin laughed even more. "What'cha gonna do? Three against one – not the best odds, and your cripple mate don't exactly look up for it."_

_Finally, Frank became involved in the standoff. Tipping his head slightly to one side, his eyes not leaving his beer bottle, Frank said, "Joe, he's not goin' to do anything, at least not without his friends help and I can guarantee they're not goin' to." _

_Joe looked from his brother to the two men who were standing at their friend's shoulder. They were both giving his brother a sneering look. He watched_ _as Frank turned his face on them calmly, through eyes that were emotionless, detached, and dangerous. It was almost like it wasn't Frank at all, even Joe had difficulty recognising him that moment. It was wholly unnerving._

_Frank continued: "And the reason why they're not goin' to do anything is because if they lay one finger on you, bro, I'll put them out of action for a long time."_

_The two men looked at each other and exploded into loud, aggressive, howling, mocking laughs. The nearest looked down at Frank again, and what he saw made the sardonic mirth drain from his face – he'd realised Frank hadn't reacted to their antagonism…at all. His friend, who had also taken in Frank's expression, began to look decidedly uncomfortable to be under such an intensely concentrated gaze. He looked_ _relieved when Frank finally slid his blank stare away to address Joe instead. "If Justin here chooses to tussle with you, Joe, that'll be his undoing, because alone, he's no match for you, not by a __long__ shot."_

_Justin frowned and looked behind him at his friends who were still staring down at Frank. Although their mouths were still turned up at the corners, they_ _were plastered-on grins that didn't reach the eyes and were more for effect than anything else._

_The older Hardy brother took another drink from his bottle, leaned back in his chair and shrugged. "Justin's friends are gutless, all bravado and noise. If they were gonna do anything, they would have done it by now." Frank now addressed Joe's aggressor directly. "If you want my advice, Justin, walk away, unless you want to fight someone who lifts weights for more hours in a day than you obviously work. You think __I'm__ crazy? Wait until my brother loses it – he's liable to rip your head clean off with his bare hands."_

_Justin looked back at his friends again for support, but they were already disappearing into the crowds._

_Frank aimlessly directed the neck of his bottle towards their retreating backs. "See…gutless. Get yourself some friends with a backbone. Go away, Justin."_

"_You heard him. Run along to mommy, pal," Joe said, waving his hand at him as if wafting away a bad smell._

_Justin hesitated for a second, glanced at Martina who was treating him to a look of total distain, and then muttered lamely at Joe: "You're not worth the effort," and left._

_Joe watched Justin to ensure that he was indeed going to leave them alone before he sat down and looked across the table in astonishment at his brother and the performance he'd just put on. Martina waited and didn't sit down until Joe did. She was apologetic, but wasn't making eye contact with Frank any more and had shifted her seat closer to Joe's instead._

_After another five minutes of forced conversation with Frank entirely silent, the girls bade their farewells and left the bar to go on to another establishment. Justin followed on after them with his two friends ten minutes later, making a point of not even looking in the Hardy brothers' direction._

"_You're a cool one," Joe said to Frank afterwards. "Were you channelling a demon entity?"_

_Frank raised his shoulders, his mouth down-turned and sullen. _

"_I'll get us another drink – holy water for you. Try not to petrify anyone else while I'm gone, huh? I don't think this place can afford to lose any more customers." _

Now that Joe was lying in his bed with no distractions, he suddenly realised what it was that had been gnawing away at him about his brother's behaviour. Frank had acted like someone who didn't much care what happened to him. Joe supposed that so much had happened to Frank whilst in the hands of the Pandora Posse that no threat from a mere group of rowdy guys was going to faze him. And those boys had sensed it too, and they'd known that Frank's threats weren't empty ones. He'd intimidated and browbeaten them to within an inch of their lives and he hadn't even had to leave his chair to do it, and that was with his walking sick lying on the table in full view of them all!

How do you fight someone who doesn't care if he gets hurt and is impossible to bully? Frank was a black belt too, so it didn't make for a good combination – or the best combination, dependent on how it was analysed. Either way, Joe counted his lucky stars that Frank was on his side.

_After Joe had returned to the table, Frank's mood had taken a distinct down-turn, so they'd small talked for quite a while until Joe had gently brought the conversation around to talking about the Pandora case. At least, Joe __thought__ he had. Upon reflection, he realised that Frank had in fact skilfully manipulated the conversation so that they weren't actually discussing Pandora at all, but had simply recanted a largely unrelated incident that had occurred in a club that he and Nancy had visited in order to find a section of the code._

_Frank told him about a creep who, when his back was turned, had pinned Nancy against a wall and had forced a kiss on her. Joe had brought his clenched hand down hard against the table top and had asked: "What did you do, Frank?"_

"_Well, Joe, I complimented him on his choice of women—" Frank dryly answered. "—What did you __think__ I did to him? I made sure he wouldn't be able to talk for a week, let alone 'kiss' someone. And if security hadn't had got in my way, I'd have made sure he wouldn't have been able to walk either!"_

"_Right on," Joe had said simply, and took a good long drink of his non-alcoholic beer, wishing it had some kick to it. _

_As if actually reading Joe's thoughts, Frank muttered: "I wish I could have a real drink!" and shoved the bottle away from himself in disgust._

Joe burrowed further into the blankets to get comfortable again and wait for the sandman to put in an appearance. But he found he couldn't get the image out of his head of Nancy being held against that wall while some random sleaze had his hands and mouth all over her.

And cruelly – and as a mind is prone to – the image switched from it being Nancy to Vanessa. Even this unreal and wicked vision was enough for Joe to be experiencing corporeal feelings of anger and injustice. He was now walking in his brother's shoes and could understand why Frank would feel a huge level of frustration that the club's security had stopped him from giving the guy a good pasting. It must have eaten away for days afterwards, and that was on top of everything else that he'd been mentally coping with at that time.

Joe was wishing he could get hold of the creep himself and knocked him into next week…and he'd not even been there! God knows what Frank was thinking.

Rolling over onto his back, Joe, with another groan, sat up and punched his pillow a couple of times, threw himself back down and closed his eyes. He realised his jaw was clenching so solidly that he had no chance of falling asleep again unless he relaxed it, so he let it drop open and snuggled further down. But then he heard a creaking noise and his head was popping up above the covers again to peer into the darkness towards the living room. Someone was moving about on the other side of the closed door and that's what must have awakened him in the first place.

Without losing view of the entrance, he reached over the edge of the bed and groped around until his hand found…well, nothing! There was nothing at all that he could use as a possible weapon, but then his eyes fell onto the unused closet.

Slipping out of bed, Joe and made his way silently to the closet and opened up. Reaching into the interior, he unhooked the clothes pole, took it to the bedroom door and put his ear to the wood. Yep, there was definitely someone out there, and whoever it was had made a huge mistake burglarising this particular cabin!

Licking his lips in anticipation of a possible fight, he gripped the doorknob, and with a sudden twist and a pull, yanked the door wide and yelled. "YOU'D BETTER RUN!" making sure he appeared as physically aggressive as possible, with the wooden pole held high, starting to swing it in a murderous arc.

Frank jumped back about six feet with a yelp and raised his arms and hands defensively over his head. "What are you tryin' to do to me Joe? Dammit!" he staggered to the sofa and sank down. "Man! I'm having a heart attack!"

"What are you doing roaming about out here in the middle of the night?" Joe asked, aghast that he'd almost walloped his brother over the head with his makeshift weapon. He tossed the stick away onto the bed and entered the living room properly.

"Minding my own business and getting a glass of water. Jeeze, Joe!"

Walking by and glancing into his brother's room, Joe observed that his bed didn't look slept in, although it looked at though Frank had at least been lying on top of the covers. "Haven't you even got into your bed?" he asked, turning to look his brother up and down, noticing the signs of tiredness that were creeping under his eyes. "Are you getting any sleep at all?"

Frank sighed and rubbed his face. "Of course I am. In fact, I'm goin' back – unless you feel like you'd like to ambush me again. I hear that a rush of adrenaline is great as a sleep-aid." He gave exaggerated thumbs up and got up off the sofa to walk to his room.

Joe called quickly after him: "Frank, don't forget that I went through the same sort of thing with Iola – keeping it all bottled up doesn't do any good. The nightmares are a manifestation of you keeping everything pushed down. It'll only get worse."

Frank didn't acknowledge what his brother said to him. He'd entered the room and shut the door before Joe had the opportunity to finish his mini speech.

Joe began to return to his bed, but then had seconds thoughts and deviated back towards Frank's room to push the door open. He found his brother sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands buried in his hair.

"What, Joe?" Frank asked. He didn't look up.

"Talk to me—" Joe implored, lowering down next him. He waited for an answer, but was met with a wall of silence. Eventually, he gave a resigned sigh. "You're struggling with this thing, aren't you?" he asked, laying a hand against Frank's shoulder.

"Yeah, I am, but...and I appreciate what you're tryin' to do… but I'm beat. So we'll talk tomorrow?"

Joe shook his head and after a few seconds said, "Okay, but try to get some sleep, yeah?" He patted Frank's shoulder a couple of times and left the room again. This was a battle of wills for another time. As he'd already found, he didn't have the right weapons at hand. But at least Frank had actually admitted that he was finding it a struggle.

It was a start.


	12. Chapter 12

**Boosting - Chapter 12**

Con was already at his desk when Nancy arrived at work the next morning, much to her surprise. She didn't peg him as an early riser, but he'd proven her wrong. Or so she assumed, until he spoiled it by saying: "I thought I'd better get in before you. After seeing that look you gave me on the stairs, I was worried you'd run out on me before I got in!"

"As if—" She smiled sweetly at him.

"Butter really wouldn't melt in your mouth," Con said.

"Shall we see if you've had any email responses before we go and meet Martin about the car?" Nancy asked, and went to boot up Fenton's computer.

Con's phone rang. He reached over and picked up the receiver, and because it was cordless, was able to amble across the office in order to watch over her shoulder. "Con Riley speaking…how's it goin' Fen?"

Nancy looked up and smiled at the mention of her boyfriend's father's name and then she went back to entering passwords.

"Nancy? Sure is, she's right here."

The phone appeared in front of Nancy's face as Con handed it down to her. She automatically took it and pinned it in place between her shoulder and ear so she still had both hands free to continue booting up the PC. "Hi Fenton."

"_Hi Honey. I was wondering if you'd had any information for me about Bobbie Shandley."_

Nancy frowned. "What do you mean, _'information'_? I'm looking for Frank's car, remember, Bobbie's your baby. Am I missing something?" Losing interest in the computer, she took the phone in her left hand again and concentrated properly.

"_Perhaps I should have explained first."_ Fenton said. _"After I spoke to Bobbie's father, he allowed me free reign in her bedroom and I found a scrapbook hidden under a floorboard. In that book, there were all these dossiers she'd written about private detectives. We were all in it, other than Con, but particularly you. At the bottom of your details, she'd written '__March 13, River Heights__', so I think she was planning on visiting you."_

"I wasn't at home at that time, I was with Frank – that was around about the time she disappeared, wasn't it." It wasn't a question, Nancy knew the answer to that already, she was just totally baffled as to why Bobbie would be planning on visiting her. "Bobbie really wrote that in her book?"

"_Yep. I remembered you'd not been at home, but I wondered if perhaps your father might have met with her instead? Perhaps mentioned off-hand that you'd had a visitor?"_

"Not that I recall." Nancy answered, giving it some serious thought. "Are you heading to River Heights next?"

"_Yes I am. Do you think Carson will mind me turning up on his doorstep, or will you call ahead for me?"_

Nancy glanced at the desk calendar to check the day of the week. "Just drop in. Hannah will be there today and will be thrilled to meet you in the flesh at last. I'll let you surprise her!"

"_She won't mind?"_

"Quite the opposite," Nancy assured him. "Strange that Bobbie would be coming to see me in order to follow up on a lead. Intriguing. Let us know if you uncover anything."

"_Will do."_

"Can you hang on a second, Mr H? I need to ask Con something." She put her hand over the mouthpiece and addressed her temporary partner. "Shall I update him on Frank's job situation?"

"Do it."

"Fenton?"

"_I'm still here, honey."_

"We thought we ought to give you a heads up – Chief Collig and Con have both been asked to provide written references for Frank with regard to that job he was interviewed for…well…not that job actually, a better one." There followed an impressively extended silence, to the point where Nancy had to prompt him into responding: "Fenton?"

"_Sorry…thanks for letting me know."_ he responded, flatly.

"Oh, yeah, bye, Mr H." But Fenton had already disconnected. She returned the handset to Con. "Erm, I don't think that went down well, he near enough hung up on me."

"Did he?" Con considered the phone in his hand and started dialling. "I'm ringing him back," he explained and backed out of the office and into the corridor.

A little while later and Nancy could hear Con having a conversation with Fenton, but couldn't ascertain what was being said. Eventually, Con re-entered the room and smiled thinly at her.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"It will be – it came as a blow is all. Fenton feels things a lot more…keenly…than he'd have us know on the outside – especially where his family are concerned." Con went and returned the phone to its cradle and fetched his chair to pull it up next to Nancy. "What did Fen want you for?"

"He's on his way to see my folks. Apparently Bobbie was going to visit me around about the same time as she disappeared. How coincidental is that?"

"All the more reason that I stick to you like glue," Con said, peaking an eyebrow.

Nancy pulled a face. "I'll teach you to underestimate a girl!" she warned. "You'll learn, big guy – being a female detective has its benefits, it's not all about brawn." Returning to the computer, she pulled up the email account. "A-ha, you have three messages already!"

"Let's have a look-see."

*****

The next morning, the brothers had their breakfast and Frank announced that they needed to go and get some supplies. "Unless you want a can of sardines for dinner with a dash of gravy!" He turned grinning, displaying the can.

Joe pursed his lips and making a play of thinking hard, tapping on his lips. "Hmm—"

Neither of them had mentioned what had happened the night before, and Joe assumed that his brother must have caught up on a few hours sleep because he'd not emerged from his room for an hour or so after Joe, and he did seem a lot fresher – unless he was doing an Oscar winning acting job.

"—Hmm, as tempting as that sounds…and you know how much I LOVE sardines and gravy…I think you might have a point," Joe agreed. "Let's go now and we can have a trek around the town."

They grabbed their jackets and gloves, etcetera, and headed for their bikes. As usual, Frank was the first one gunning his motor into life and pulling away. Joe only seconds after him, keeping pace.

They took it carefully around the poor surface conditions until they got onto the main road again and then Frank opened up the throttle and picked up speed. Joe performed a wheelie so as not to allow his brother to out-gun him and shot up the side of the red bike until he stole in front. Frank made a rude hand gesture.

They began meeting more traffic as they neared the small nearby town and Joe glanced in his mirror to check his brother was still behind him. They were approaching a blind turn and he pointed to warn Frank in advance. Frank raised his thumb to indicate that he'd already spotted it.

Seconds later and Joe was around the bend with Frank coming through immediately afterwards.

Just ahead of them and approaching on the other side was a trailer truck which was ambling along at a reasonable speed, beginning to slow down in order to ready itself to take the blind corner – which as it turned out was possibly a lucky break for one of the brothers, because Joe suddenly noticed in his mirror that Frank was inexplicably slewing at an alarming angle across from his side and into the direct path of the oncoming truck.

Joe was so shocked that he physically looked over his shoulder and almost lost control of his own bike, feeling it starting to shudder under him as he went off course and hit a rough patch at the side of the asphalt. He was forced to look forward again and battle to straighten up, but he'd been in time to observe Frank disappear from sight in front of the large vehicle, the red bike listing dangerously to one side, his brother apparently making no moves towards trying to save himself.

There came the horrible wailing and throaty honk of the truck's horn, the sound cutting through everything apart from the frightening clattering noise of the bike going completely over, which appeared in Joe's mirror half a second later, rider-less and sliding into sight on the opposite grass verge, the still spinning back wheel sending up clods of earth, the bike jerking and shrieking – seemingly in the throws of some sort of screaming, agonised, mechanical seizure.

Joe hadn't been able to see what had happened to Frank, but the truck had applied its air brakes, the hissing of the pistons resonating and the tires leaving smoky black tread marks on the road surface. At this stage, Joe could only assume Frank had gone under, but prayed that he was wrong to assume such a horrible outcome. He couldn't fathom how the truck could have missed his brother from the angle and speed the bike had been sliding.

Taking his bike into a skid, Joe turned and started back the way he'd come, fearing the worst. By the time he was blasting up the side of the truck and smelling scorched rubber, the driver had his door open and was beginning to jump down urgently from his cab, shouting and agitated.

Joe rounded the truck and saw his brother lying in the road, jammed up against the huge right front tire. The bike had actually come to a halt not so far away from its owner, and it miraculously didn't appear as if the truck had struck Frank, although hitting the ground itself could have caused a lot of damage to someone coming off a bike at that speed.

Stopping as quickly as possible, Joe dumped his motorcycle onto the grass next to his brother's and abandoned his helmet to run to Frank's aid. The truck driver was standing above him and shouting about him being an "Idiot!"

"Go easy, buddy!" Joe yelled at the driver and scooted under the truck to get to his brother's side. "Hey Frank, hey – you okay?" he asked, unclipping his brother's visor and pushing it up.

Frank was looking back at him, his face a blanket of pale bewilderment. "I think so – what happened?" he asked, and started to try and raise himself. "How did I end up on the other side of the road?"

Joe put his hands squarely against Frank's chest and started visually scanning him up and down, looking for obvious injuries. "No, don't move, make sure you're okay first."

"Listen to your friend," the truck driver agreed, leaning over Joe's shoulder. "You might have broken something without realising it."

"No, really, I'm fine." Frank insisted, pushing Joe's arms away, but not belligerently. "I didn't even hurt my knee. Frank sat up, shuffled himself away from the truck's wheel and pulled his helmet off. He looked up at the driver. "Sorry. Are you okay?"

"You're the one on the ground!" The driver said sardonically, and gave him a little smile. "Sorry I shouted; you scared the hell out of me falling in front of my wheels like that. You were lucky I was taking it easy on the speed."

Frank looked back and considered the massive wheel that he'd been lying up against. "Boy, that was so close!" he muttered.

Cars were starting to slow down as they passed, having a good look at what was happening and then quickly losing interest when it was clear there was no blood and guts involved.

Frank accepted Joe's offer of a forearm and was hauled to his feet. Joe kept hold for a few seconds as his brother seemed a little unsteady, but Frank let go and turned to look back at where his bike had settled, its engine still ticking over. He was obviously still totally baffled.

Joe narrowed his eyes. He had a good idea of what had probably occurred – Frank had indeed been putting on a good performance that morning and had lost concentration through lack of rest, possibly even having gone as far as to fall physically asleep. That was the only explanation for his brother's bewilderment.

"Oh well, no harm done," the trucker said finally. "If it's okay with you boys, I'll be on my way."

"Thanks for not running over me," Frank said and shook the man's hand before going to heave up his bike and kill the engine. He hunkered down next to it to begin checking for damage.

The truck driver took Joe by the upper arm and had him accompany him back to his vehicle. "You need to get some strong coffee into that boy before you go on any more long rides," he whispered meaningfully before swinging back into his cab and driving away with a small wave.

Joe could do little more than agree.


	13. Chapter 13

**Boosting - Chapter 13**

Fenton had been phoning Nancy from a restaurant in her home town of River Heights when she'd delivered the news about Frank's reference requests, almost, he considered, as an afterthought. It had shaken him so badly that he'd not known what to say, or how to react, so he'd simply said nothing until prompted. And even then it was with a weak: _"Sorry…thanks for letting me know—" _before he'd immediately cut the connection.

He stood up and threw a twenty-dollar bill down onto the table before stalking out. He knew it was possible that his oldest would be offered the job, but he'd not believed it would happen and certainly not for the first job he was interviewed for – it seemed so unlikely!

Fenton had barely set a foot outside when his phone started to ring. It was no surprise when he looked at the screen to find it was the office again. "Hi Con," he greeted, in a flat, monotone.

"_You okay, Flash?"_

"Why does my son have to be so darned GOOD at everything?" Fenton blurted out and kicked a stray stone. He belted it so hard that he nearly hit someone in the head. Luckily they had their back to him and didn't realise.

"_A chip off the ol' block."_

That made Fenton smile at least.

"_Just because there's probably an offer on the table, doesn't mean Frank'll take it. Give Joe time to work on him. He might come back from this break with a different outlook on things. Don't assume the worst, okay? And besides, you still need to have that chat with Frank."_

"Yeah—"

"_Not 'yeah', just get on with it, stop being a coward!"_

"I'm not being a coward, Con, it's just not the right time."

"_Fen! This is __me__ you're talking to remember?!"_

"And I'm the boy's father remember?!" Fenton snapped back, and then instantly regretted getting spitty. He sighed and sat down on a bench. "Sorry Con. You're right. Of course, you're right, it's just…you know…"

"_Yeah, I know. You gonna be alright?"_

"Uh-huh. Get back to what you were doing Con. I'll see you in the next few days, following up on a lead. Nancy can fill you in."

"_Right-o, see ya partner. Don't be a stranger now!"_

"Con—"

"_Yeah?"_

"Write him a good reference."

"_Already on it."_

Fenton disconnected and dropped the phone into his inside pocket. He didn't feel any better, so on reflection, he extracted it again to make a call to the one person he knew had the power to make everything seem not so catastrophic = Laura Hardy.

*****

Although Nancy had been so excited by the three emails that Con had received, the messages had proven a great disappointment. Indeed, they had promised so much and delivered so little.

The first informed Con that he'd won several million on another country's national lottery. Or so they'd thought until Nancy had, for the fun of it, entered the total into a currency converter, the total immediately dropping to a less than impressive $13.14.

"Wow! I'll put it in the bank and live off the interest!" Con announced.

"And all you have to do is give your bank details to have the money transferred to your account. And you don't have any worries about security because they swear they're legitimate!"

"I'll do that later. What's the next email?"

Nancy deleted the message and opened the next. It was from a 'pharmaceutical' company. She turned to Con with her eyes theatrically wide. "Con, you know you can talk to me don't you…about anything? There's no shame in needing a little help at your age!"

"Watch your step—"

"They're offering such a good price, much cheaper than your usual supplier."

"Viagra is one area that is goin' to remain unexplored. Delete it and move on."

"You sure Con? I can always jot down the details for you—" she picked up her pen and went for the notepad.

"DREW!"

"Okay, okay, it's deleted, jeeze. Touchy much!"

"Oh boy. I'm in trouble if you end up working with us for any length of time and you and _'Joker-Joe'_ join forces!" Con muttered.

Nancy laughed. "Relax Con, unlikely...right…to the final email." She clicked her mouse. "This is more like it! Someone has a Fairlane for sale and…yep, it's a blue and white one. Doesn't say much more, other than it's in great condition."

Con leaned even further in. "Any contact details?"

"Just a cell number." Nancy automatically started jotting it down. "Don't read too much into that, most people aren't comfortable giving away information about themselves by email." She turned the pad to Con who already had a phone in hand.

"A name?"

"Ron."

Nancy watched as he dialled and waited for an answer, winking at her as he did so. His face suddenly became more animated and he forced his face into a wide grin to change the pitch of his voice to a softer friendlier tone as someone answered.

"Ah yes, hello. Am I speaking to Rob?…Oh, I apologise, Ron. My name is John, you answered an advertisement I left about purchasing a Ford Fairlane?…Yes, that's correct."

Con arose from the table and began pacing as he pumped Ron for more information than he'd presumably ever intended on revealing to a complete stranger. Nancy was impressed, no very impressed – Con was more than good!

After another five minutes, Con eventually brought the conversation to an end with a thank you and a 'sort of' promise to phone him back.

"Well?" Nancy asked afterwards.

Con ruefully shook his head. "Lives in Oregon, so couldn't be living any further away from Bayport if he'd planned it. The car wouldn't have had time to be smuggled that far – and Ron was proud that he still has the original radio and it's in good working order. Besides which, Ron is 71 years old and has owned that car from when it first rolled off the production line."

"Thought it was too good to be true," Nancy said, and checked her watch. "We need to get a move on. It's nine-thirty." She began powering down Fenton's computer. "Let's go and have a look at this Corvette convertible."

*****

Fenton's chat with his adored wife, Laura, had given him plenty of food for thought and none of it stale or rotten. He realised that he'd been so singularly focused on the negative aspects of Frank leaving, that he'd discounted the possibility of any positives. So thank heavens for his darling Laura and her open mind!

He'd repeated the conversation he'd had with Con about the possibility of having to replace Frank, and voiced his fears that he would be shutting the door on their son with no hope of return. But his beloved Laura had offered a solution that was so simple and so obvious that he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it himself.

She'd suggested they continue hiring extra temporary help, as required and leave Frank's job unfilled. Immediately, Fenton had been able to pinpoint several acquaintances who he suspected would be only too happy for the opportunity to provisionally fill that type of a role in such a well respected investigative practice, the plan was definitely a doer!

And then lovely Laura had given him further food for thought: the added advantage would be Joe flying solo – an experience he wouldn't otherwise get. One of Joe's weaknesses was that he found it difficult to work without his brother; he was like a lost soul when Frank wasn't at his shoulder and Fenton was convinced that his youngest had so much more to offer that was being dumbed down by Frank's big brother, alpha persona.

Yes, he was in a position of turning a disaster into an opportunity for quite a few people that he cared about.

His beautiful Laura urged him to consider why it would be so awful if Frank did decided to take the job? That surely their oldest's happiness was their greatest prerogative, not where he laid his pen every morning? Later, if the wind was blowing in the right direction and Frank's mental state was to improve sufficiently, he might begin looking back over his shoulder and realise what he'd abandoned, and there, waiting for him, would be that yellow brick road to draw him back to the agency and his dusty desk.

Fenton wanted to smack a big kiss right on her lips and swing her around in his arms, but Laura was on the other end of the line and across state, so he had to satisfy himself with uttering a few sweet nothings and promises which could be cashed in upon his return.

He loved his Laura – and to think they'd almost never got together. If it hadn't have been for that stupid accident, it would have been the age-old adage of 'ships that passed in the night'.

So it was a calm and serene Fenton Hardy who was pulling his rental car up into the driveway of Carson Drew's three-story, brick colonial home and exiting with his briefcase.

He stepped onto the porch, rang the bell and turned to look at the small blue sporty car that was parked up on the driveway. For some reason he knew it was Nancy's, but couldn't fathom why, and then he remembered. Con had done a trace on her car when Frank had done his disappearing act and he'd subconsciously remembered the license number. Clearly, his oldest wasn't the only person who enjoyed a fast ride!

"_Frank Hardy, what are you doing here, young man?"_ asked a voice at his shoulder making him jump. He turned quickly to find an older woman standing in the doorway. She had obviously been a vivid redhead at one time, but now her hair was streaked with white, giving it a rich auburn color. Her eyes were a particularly startling green color.

The instant he'd spun, her face had taken on the same expression as his own – complete and utter surprise.

"_Sorry, I didn't—"_ they both said at the same time, and started to laugh.

"You go first," Fenton insisted.

"I thought you were Frank, but I'm now guessing you're Fenton Hardy given those few grey hairs. Am I right?" she asked, her eyes lifting at the corners with mirth.

Fenton smoothed his hair down self-consciously. "Ten out of ten. And are you Hannah?"

"Yes I am – I should have been a detective, although there's no prizes for guessing who your son is."

"I know, fine-looking boy, isn't he?"

"Well Nancy's taste in male company has never failed her yet!" Hannah said jovially and slipped an arm into his. "Come inside, Fenton. You've got such good timing. I've just finished a batch of a new cookie recipe and I need a willing volunteer to give me an opinion. I'm making them for a fund-raiser and I'd rather poison you than them."

She pulled him inside and he followed after her down a long hallway to the kitchen, the wonderful smell of fresh baking growing stronger as he got closer. He was taken aback by how warm and welcoming Hannah Gruen was and he'd not even been asked yet as to why he'd turned up unannounced on her doorstep – and then she was pouring him a coffee and plonking a plate of cookies in front of him. It was easy to see why Nancy was so fond of her.

"So_—"_ Hannah began. "What brings the internationally renowned Private Investigator Fenton Hardy to our humble home?" she asked.

Having taken a bite of his first cookie, Fenton was forced to chew and swallow before he could answer, hearing himself making some very odd noises. Eventually, he was able to respond. "Hannah – I don't know what you've put in these cookies, but you ought to patent the recipe – these are the best I've ever tasted!"

"Really?"

"Seriously, I'm not kidding."

Hannah went pink. "Nonsense, they're just cookies."

"Don't be so modest. Anyway, the reason why I'm invading your privacy_—"_

"—It's not an invasion, Fenton. It's a thrill to meet you at last."

Fenton smiled grimly. "I'd save that statement until after I've shown you this." He lifted his briefcase onto his lap and pulled out the photo of Bobbie Shandley. "Do you recognise this girl?"

Accepting the picture from him, Hannah glanced at the image for a second, and then quickly raised her reading glasses from her neck. She didn't put them on, hovering them instead and using them like a magnifying glass. "Yes, I do. She came to see Nancy not so long ago, but of course, Nancy wasn't here." She lowered the glasses and tapped the photo with one of the arms. "I forget what her name is off-hand, but I seem to recall it was one of those names that can be used for either a boy or a girl."

"Bobbie?"

She pointed her spectacles at him. "Yes, that's it, Bobbie. May I ask why you're showing me this?"

"She's gone missing and I've been hired to try and track her down."

"Oh dear! Poor girl, did she run away, or—"

"It's an 'or' I'm afraid. Believe it or not, Bobbie was hired to look into a spate of cars being stolen. She was visiting Nancy, I assume, to seek her advice or guidance, but she's not been heard from since. She didn't give any indication to you as to where she was going afterwards, did she?"

"Our conversation was brief. She didn't dally when she found Nancy wasn't here. Said she'd come back another day…wait…I think she said she was staying at a hotel in town and would be in River Heights for a few days."

"Did she say which hotel?" Fenton asked.

"I knew you were going to ask me that. No, unfortunately she didn't. I actually got the impression that she was a friend of Nancy's from the way she spoke, it was like she knew her."

"Nancy has never met Bobbie, but Bobbie has researched Nancy, so that might be why you got that impression."

"Oh I see. If I had known that, I would have asked more questions. I'm afraid I rather gave too much away than I would have done otherwise. Like the fact Nancy is staying with your family in Bayport. Did I do wrong?"

Fenton smiled, "No, you didn't say anything wrong. In fact, if you said that, you might have prompted her to track down Nancy in Bayport. Who knows, perhaps she's on her way there right now."

He sat back in his chair and thought over what Hannah had told him. "I think I need to find out which hotel she was staying in. If, as you say, she was staying in town for a few days, perhaps her investigation brought her to River Heights for more reasons than to drop in on Nancy." Returning the photograph to his briefcase, Fenton began to stand up.

"Are you here overnight, Fenton?"

"I'm not sure, depends upon what I find out in town."

"In that case, why don't you stay here rather than worry about whether or not to book into a hotel. That way, you can go straight into town and get started on tracking down where Bobbie is, or was, staying."

Fenton paused. What Hannah said made sense. He would have to play it by ear otherwise and it would slow him down. However, he wasn't sure if he was comfortable staying at Carson Drew's home, it felt like he was taking advantage. "Well—"

"Good, that settles it," Hannah said and smiled shiftily. "Go and get your things and we'll take them upstairs, then you can head straight into town." Fenton opened his mouth to object, but Hannah jumped it again: "Actually, I'm glad you're staying. Carson is out of town on business, and this house is so big when you're the only one in it."

Fenton stared at her in consternation. "Hannah! You are a bad girl, stop lambasting me!"

"So what if I am? It makes sense, doesn't it? Save on expenses."

"My expenses are recouped through the government."

"Save on time?"

"What are another few hours in the scheme of things?"

"Home cooked dinner?"

"I graciously accept."


	14. Chapter 14

**Boosting - Chapter 14**

During the rest of the journey into the town, Joe couldn't shake the discomfort that something might happen again to his brother on that motorcycle, that he might succumb to another accident. So rather than pass in front of Frank's motorcycle, he trailed behind to keep his eye on things – not that there'd be a hell of a lot he could do if Frank had decided to take another tumble!

Joe now hated that his brother was in dangerous command of a bike that he himself had bought, felt he'd made an error in judgement even though there was no way he could have foretold what would happen. By the time they arrived and were pulling their bikes into the multi-story parking garage, he was feeling decidedly edgy.

As soon as his machine was stationary, Joe turned to find Frank down on his haunches, inspecting his bike again, concentrating all his attention on a particular area of the engine.

"Problem?" Joe asked, joining him.

"Something's been rattling since I came off. I think it's this," Frank said, pointing towards a component.

Joe bent closer and put his hand to it to find it was loose.

Frank continued: "It's fixable though, so if we can find a hardware store, I'll get the parts to make a temporary repair and I can put it in the shop after we get home."

"Will it be okay with a make-do fix? We can always put it in the shop here and come back for it tomorrow, stay in a hotel." Joe mentally crossed his fingers hoping that Frank would agree. It wasn't to be.

"It'll be fine with a temporary fix." Frank sounded confident. "It'll only become a big problem if it comes away completely and works its way into the engine. I don't think it's that badly damaged though."

Joe nodded his understanding and stood. "I need a coffee," he ventured.

"Me too."

Joe heaved a sigh of relief and led Frank away from the bikes and out of the parking lot. He was glad Frank had at least agreed to a shot of caffeine without question, he didn't want to have to get heavy on his brother's ass, but his hand would have been forced if he hadn't agreed. Joe wondered if Frank had secretly come to the same conclusion as to why he'd come off his bike. If he had, he certainly wasn't sharing those thoughts, preferring instead to discuss anything other than the accident as they headed for the café that was across the street.

It was evident that Frank must have jarred his leg after all when he'd come off the bike. Maybe it was simply that he hadn't noticed at first during all the confusion and adrenalin of the accident, but he was definitely limping heavily now, although he obviously didn't feel it was painful enough to warrant the humiliation of bringing his stick into play. Joe was tempted to point out the foolishness of Frank's actions, but had to admit to himself that if he were in the same boat, he'd never use a walking stick either.

They pushed their way inside the eatery and Frank veered away to find a table, leaving Joe to go up to the counter and join the line. After, he returned to Frank to find he'd bagged them a corner table and was inspecting his fingernails, or so Joe thought until he was standing in front of him and laying down the coffees. He was asleep, out like the proverbial light – though thankfully not snoring!

"Uh—" Joe said, not really knowing what to do and glancing around self-consciously, seeing if anyone else was looking. Initially he put his arm out to shake his brother, but then he reassessed, choosing instead to sit down and position his body so the other patrons couldn't observe easily. A power nap wasn't such a bad idea in retrospect. He reached for the sugar and waited.

Ten minutes later, Frank suddenly jerked awake and looked about himself, dazed.

"Yo," Joe said by way of a greeting and pushed Frank's coffee towards him. "Should still be hot enough to drink."

"What?" Frank asked, and blinked down at the cup.

"Dude, your coffee…it's still hot…drink."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks bro." Frank muttered and took a sip.

"Sooo—" Joe regarded his brother over his cup as Frank took another drink. "—How much sleep are you getting each night…or not?"

"Can't say I've been timing myself. Enough." Frank looked out of the window to watch a young mother pushing a child having a tantrum in a stroller.

"Yeah, cause if you were getting 'enough', you'd still be falling asleep in a coffee shop…Frank…Frank?" Joe audibly sighed. "Brilliant," he muttered, frustrated. Joe had observed his brother's face switching off again as he focused entirely on the outside world and not on him or their conversation.

Frank's constant self-distraction techniques were starting to play on Joe's nerves. It was like Frank'd chosen going into partial trances as an alternative to comatosing out completely like he'd done before. Joe supposed it was easier for him to recede into a stupor than deal with his problems head on.

Deciding to get confrontational with him, Joe leaned across the table and rapped Frank hard on the collarbone with his knuckles, shocking him back to attention. He jumped so hard that some of the coffee slopped over the side of the cup and ran down his arm.

"Ouch! Bro, what was that for? That was so not funny!" Frank snapped, grabbing a napkin to dry his hand and then rubbing the area Joe had struck.

"Wasn't supposed to be funny. I had to get you to look at me somehow. Couldn't you hear me tryin' to talk to you? Try zoning in for a little while, huh?"

Frank held his hands wide and raised his eyebrows questioningly. "What can possibly be so important that it's worth scalding your nearest and dearest?"

"Dude! You're twenty-three years old. You fell asleep in a coffee house…what's wrong with this picture? Usually it's the elderly, drunks, or bums that conk out in public places, what's up with you?"

"Okay Joe, so I've not been sleeping well, but what's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that you nearly just got killed out on the highway. At best, your concentration is shot, at worse; you fell asleep in the saddle! What's to say you won't do that again?"

Frank shook his head. "Joe, I didn't fall sleep on the road—"

"—So it's a lack of concentration?"

And then Frank infuriated him further by shaking his head. "No."

Laying his palms down on the table, Joe thrust his face forward. "Well, c'mon then, Bro, shoot me an alternative explanation, cause you got me beat!" He was aware that people were starting to turn in their direction.

So evidently was Frank, because he suddenly leaned forward too and hissed quietly and with no small amount of desperation. "This is neither the time nor the place, Joe, so can we drop it until we get back to the cabin or somewhere more private? I can't talk openly here."

Joe's eyes flashed and he momentarily moved to make a further loud retort, but Frank's panicked expression stopped him, so he took a deep, calming breath instead. "Okay, you win…again!"

"_Childish, Joseph!"_ Joe chastised himself.

"Joe, it's not a case of winning, it's—" There came a ringing sound from his inside pocket. "—Sorry, got a call." Frank said and reached for his phone. "Probably Nancy." He glanced at the screen.

"Don't answer it, Frank." Joe begged, leaning across to grab onto his wrist.

Frank paused. "Uh, it's not Nancy. I gotta take this. Sorry bro." He rotated his arm to break his brother's hold.

Joe clenched his hands into uptight fists and slid them off the tabletop to push them into his lap. He didn't want to get too combative with his brother, that wasn't the fair thing to do and it made him feel bad, like he was swatting at a fly.

Frank left the table and stepped away a distance, turning his back, far enough that Joe could neither hear nor lip-read him. At one point Frank stood up straight and made a surprised noise before glancing over his shoulder at Joe and running his fingers through his hair. Eventually, he nodded emphatically and cut off the call. He stayed there looking at the phone for another few seconds before he shook himself and limped back to the table, the one side of his face lifted into a half smile.

"What are you looking suddenly so pleased about?" Joe asked, genuinely taken aback by his brother's emotional flip-flapping.

"I got offered a job with Digitech – subject to references of course."

Joe was aghast.

Frank continued, although his part-grin dropped. "Not for the job I was interviewed for, another one, a supervisory position. You okay, Joe?"

Joe didn't know how he should be reacting, an internal conflict begging for attention. He didn't want to say something that would upset his brother or make him angry because that would, in Frank's eyes, only serve to justify his decision to leave the agency even more. But this was devastating news and Joe had to fight his natural tendencies, and fight himself hard. He started feeling something hot and poisonous writhing and slithering up from within his belly, he could actually feel and hear the blood rushing around his brain. He knew that if he didn't get out of the café right at that instant, he was liable to deck his own brother. So instead he stood calmly up, pushed the chair under the table, and started to walk away to extricate himself from the situation.

He was a few long strides outside when his brother caught up, a telling hand on his elbow pulling him up short. Joe spun and shoved Frank warningly away. "Don't!"

Frank, stumbled back, but didn't retaliate, just collected himself, gave a surprised look and raised palms into the air. "Joe, listen first and then you can storm off, you didn't let me finish! I didn't accept the job, not yet anyway, I told them I was considering several options and would get back to them."

"Why'd you tell 'em that?"

"Because I'm not so thick skinned as to not realise what I'm givin' up, bro, that's why. I'm not jumping into anything until I'm one-hundred percent sure I'm doing the right thing."

"Then why even consider it?"

"I need to make sure that I'm doing the best thing for me. As much as you're high up on my list of priorities, this time, I have to put myself in the number one spot. Look at me, Joe, I don't want to be like this forever, and if doing a mundane nine-to-five job is the only way to get myself well again, I'll do that."

And then a light switched on, flooding the shadowed corners of Joe's mind with comprehension. The line between 'Frank-the-brother' and 'Frank-the-partner' had become so blurred over the years that he'd forgotten, first and foremost, that the stressed looking young man standing in front of him was blood-kin, and his health took precedence. So what if Frank wasn't going to be working with him? Surely that was better than the alternative of him falling from the path entirely? Joe wasn't being fair, he was as good as forcing his brother along the wrong path by emotionally blackmailing him, levering him by some ridiculous notion of duty and obligation into continuing along a road strewn with broken glass, and he was making him tread it in bare feet.

Joe considered that maybe it wasn't Frank that needed to 'pull his head in' it was himself. He hadn't been thinking about Frank's wants or needs – well, that wasn't entirely true, he was with regard to everything else – but with the job situation, Joe had only been thinking about himself, and that was selfish.

So Joe took a deep breath, did his mental counting from ten to one, and, although he couldn't believe what he was about to say, said: "Frank, take the job—"

"Huh?"

Screwing his face up, Joe said, "you heard right. Take the job. If it's what has to happen, do it." Frank's mouth dropped open in amazement as Joe hung an arm about his shoulders. "Do it." Joe shook his head, pissed – the whole purpose of taking Frank away to the cabin blown in one short statement, at least as far as the job was concerned. Frank = one point, Joe = zero. His disappointment was palpable.

This whole trip had indeed turned into one huge therapy session, but not for Frank, as was naively planned, but for himself!

*****

Nancy and Con made an odd coupling as they entered the used car dealership. Nancy suspected that to a casual observer, they might be mistaken for father and daughter – she hoped not though.

As they entered, Nancy immediately eyeballed the car that she'd come to see, it had pride of place actually inside the glassed building, rather than on the showroom floor, rotating slowly on a podium. The roof was down and it was sparkling, presented at its best.

A man behind a desk raised himself immediately and came around to approach them. "Martin Jackson," he said by way of introduction and stuck his hand out at Con who automatically took it. He ignored Nancy totally.

Nancy rolled her eyes. This was the type of misogynistic behaviour that really got her goat – the way some car salesmen don't talk to a woman because a man is accompanying her, preferring to assume that the man is holding the purse strings and the know-how. This guy was obviously no exception and Nancy was taking no prisoners. "Hi!" She pushed her hand forcefully forward, nudging Con aside. "I'm Lucy, we have an appointment?"

"Ah yes," said the man, at last acknowledging her, but not before raising a knowing, amused look in Con's direction.

Nancy looked at Con out the corner of her eye and he must have read her expression as saying 'butt out', as, to his credit, he turned and started looking at some of the other cars, leaving her to it – but stayed close enough so he could overhear what was being said.

"Is this the Corvette convertible you were telling me about on the phone yesterday?" she asked, pointing to it.

"It is indeed, beauty isn't she?"

"I'll be the judge of that," Nancy said and approached, stepping up on to the platform. "Could you turn this off?" she asked Martin. "I get seasick, and I doubt you'd want me barfing into the car."

He laughed and shot Con another look, but did head away giving Nancy the opportunity she needed to give the car a quick once over while he wasn't hovering.

Con moved towards the driver's side as she opened the passenger door to take a look at the side of the seat. Sure enough, there was a small paint smudge worn into the leather about half way down. _"Well done, Joseph!"_ She glanced at the carpet, noting that it was a proper inky black color. Finally, she slipped her hand under the seat to confirm there was a multi-change CD unit beneath.

The podium suddenly stopped moving as Con was clicking open the driver's door. "What do you reckon?" he asked in a low voice, slipping in behind the wheel and inspecting the edge of the door.

"It's Frank's car, I'm convinced of it."

"So am I. Come and have a look at this."

Nancy stood again and could see, through the glass, Martin starting to return from the back office, so she quickly climbed on the passenger seat on her knees and leaned into Con with her arm across the back of his headrest. "What'cha got?"

"Look," Con said, and indicated to the door hinge. Where it joined the car's body, there was a sliver of red paint that hadn't received the same attention as the rest of the car when it had gotten its racing green re-spray.

"Yep, this is Frank's car all right, even though they've changed the plates." Nancy agreed with an eyebrow lift. She looked over her shoulder to see that Martin was zeroing in on them again, a sleazy grin on his face. Nancy ghosted a smile back and said as an aside to Con, "What a freakin' skank. This guy is going to regret having messed with us—"

"Don't hold back, Drew," said Con, tittering.

"—If this guy thinks he's gonna sell on my boyfriend's car, he's got another thing comin', I'll make him regret this…hello again, Martin!" she said, her voice rising in volume and changing pitch. She slithered across the seat and climbed out to face him again, ignoring the way Con was hunched over in the seat trying to control his mirth. "The car IS a beauty. Considering its age, it's got very few miles on the clock."

"Hasn't she just, and don't you love the color?"

"Oh yes, it's a lovely shade. Most people seem to prefer the red, but I like the green – classy."

"That's nothing," Martin said, and addressed Con. "Take a peek at the engine." He jumped into the empty passenger seat and reached under the steering column between Con's legs to pop the hood. "I'm sure you'll agree that you have a quality used car on your hands.

Con slid out to join Nancy and Martin around at the front of the car.

Martin opened the hood fully and swept his hand over the well-tended engine and raised an eyebrow. "You can be rest assured that you can send your daughter out in this baby without having to worry about it breaking down."

Nancy's mouth dropped open. "Oh, no, John isn't—" But she was interrupted by Con's arm suddenly being put across her shoulders, the hand gripping her upper arm. He pulled her firmly into his side and squeezed her tightly.

"What my daughter is tryin' to say is that she's buying a car with her own money. I'm only here to give my opinion. Isn't that right kiddo?" he asked, and planted a kiss right on the top of her head.

Nancy forced a toothy grin. "Yes, that's right…Daddy." She wanting to disentangled herself, but was being stopped by Con's strong hold. Martin had turned to start pointing out the other credible elements of the car's engine, so she took a step sideways and purposefully trod on Con's foot. All at once his arm was gone and she noted with satisfaction that his palm was now leaning against the edge of the car's hood instead. He grimaced and lifted the foot she'd assaulted off the ground. She hadn't put the whole of her weight down onto him with her heel, but she'd pressed hard enough for it to come sharp.

"Martin. I'm very very interested in the car, you weren't exaggerating on the phone, it's beautiful. But before I come to any decision, could I please see the documentation for the car?" Nancy asked. "It's a lot of money to spend and I want to be sure I'm making a safe purchase." She turned and smiled sweetly in Con's direction. "Would you look at them with me…Daddy…give me your expert opinion?

"Of course," Con said, his eyes still watering. "Be with you in a minute, kiddo, taking a good long look at the engine."

Nancy accompanied Martin and stepped down off the podium. As she passed the window, she glanced out at the scenery and pointed to another car that was out on display at the front of the showroom and remarked on how attractive it was.

"Yes. Not as nice a car as the Corvette. Take a seat and I'll find that paperwork."

"_Yeah, more like not as expensive as the Corvette!"_ Nancy thought, glaring at the back of his head as he went into the back room.

Con was now hobbling towards her with a pained expression still on his face.

The door opened again to the showroom and a young woman entered. Nancy watched as Con turned in the woman's direction, his mouth dropping open in amazement just as Martin appeared with the paperwork in his hand. He stopped short at the sight of the female too, near enough salivating at the mouth at the vision of loveliness in front of the both of them!


	15. Chapter 15

**Boosting - Chapter 15**

Now that that neither Con or Martin where paying any attention to her, Nancy allowed herself a smile. Oh yes, Vanessa had pulled out all the stops! She'd obviously chosen the most figure hugging, low cut 'little black number' available. And the shoes were so teeteringly high that she topped 6'3".

Nancy was convinced that if Van had attempted to go out with Joe in that outfit, he would have firstly gone off his feet, and after he'd come to, would have either cancelled their night out to 'stay in', or would have asked her to go get changed. But this wasn't one of those occasions; this was for the purpose of diversion.

And judging from the expression on Martin's face, it was working.

And by the look on Con's transfixed face as he stared in dumb amazement at the gum-chewing vixen, he was finally being taught a well earned lesson in not underestimating the powers of the fairer sex.

Vanessa sashayed eye-to-eye past Con and blew a gum bubble with a loud pop before targeting in on the Corvette. She opened the door, sat down in the driver's seat sideways and stretched her long stocking-clad legs out invitingly.

Con finally tore his gaze away and raised questioning eyebrows at Nancy.

Nancy smiled angelically at him and then addressed Martin. "Did you find that paperwork?"

"Erm…yes," he said, his eyes still glued to Vanessa. He thrust his arm out and Nancy took the envelope. "I've gotta—"

"Oh, okay," Nancy said as Martin moved quickly towards Vanessa and those never-ending legs.

Finally Con reached Nancy and sat down in the seat next to her and began massaging his foot where Nancy had trodden on him. "What's goin' on, Drew?" he whispered.

"I needed a diversion. Here, empty the envelope." She shoved it at him and pulled forth her digital camera, powered up, and cheekily banged off a shot of Vanessa to forward to Joe at some point.

All of which Con observed with a look of consternation. "You're using Vanessa as a distraction tool? Nancy, what have you done to her?" Con slipped the documents free of the envelope.

"I didn't choose the outfit, she did, and it's working. Keep your eye on Martin while I photograph these pages. Make sure he doesn't try to take advantage of Vanessa too much will you, we don't want her to have to mace him, you remember what dead aim she was with one of those canisters?"

Con twisted in his seat to find Vanessa was now leaning into the engine compartment with Martin's hand resting just below her waistline. Judging from the way Con's shoulder's tensed, if Martin's hand was to delve any further down, the ex-lieutenant was going to blow his cover by flying across the floor to her defence.

"Down, boy!" Nancy cut through. "Van knows what's she's doing."

Nancy lay the documents down on the table and began taking quick shots, one at the top of the page, the next at the bottom. A few snaps later, and it was time to release Vanessa from her responsibility. Nancy stood, adjusted her skirt, and sat back down again.

Seconds later and the door to the outside was opening once more to admit another woman. This time it was Laura Hardy, who glanced around until she finally spotted Martin with his hand on Vanessa. She stalked over to them, Martin finally looking up and noticing.

"Take your hand off my daughter!" Laura shouted and slapped Martin's hand away. Grabbing Vanessa by the upper arm, she started dragging her. "I've been looking for you for hours. Get back home and get into some decent clothes!" As they passed, she shot Con a smile, opened the door and shoved Vanessa through it. "And are you chewing gum, young lady?" she shouted, the last couple of words muffled as the door swung shut behind them.

"Uh-oh—" said Martin, as Laura continued to berate Vanessa before putting her into a car and driving away. Initially, he was red in the face, but after a few seconds he shut down the hood and left the podium.

"Well…that was awkward," Nancy said.

Con blinked rapidly, still flabbergasted.

"Did you like what you saw?" Martin asked Con as he sat down in front of them across the desk.

"Well, you seemed to," Con growled, and then said, "Oh! You meant the car's paperwork? All seems to be in order." He slipped the documents back into the envelope and passed them back. "Not a car I'd personally go for, though."

"Have you something else in mind for your daughter?"

"No, the Corvette's fine. I was thinking for me. I'm more a vintage car nut myself." Con waved his hand vaguely about. "These cars are okay, but they lack something, they're boxes on wheels, soulless."

Nancy sat back, happy this time for Con to talk 'man-o-man' with the used car salesman.

"What do you usually go for?" Martin asked, taking the bait.

"I'm actually looking for a Ford Fairlane, a blue one. My family owned one when I was a kid and I guess the pull of nostalgia is strong."

Nancy cut in. "I've been tryin' to find one, but it's like looking for a needle in a haystack. There's plenty out there, but none are nice enough for my daddy." She patted Con on the hand. "I secretly think he's having a mid-life crisis, poor lamb, you know?" she leaned forward. "He's reached that certain age."

Con smiled lovingly. "Cheeky minx!" He scuffled the top of her head, sending her hair in all directions and messing it up.

Nancy was tempted to stamp on his foot again, but he moved his feet out of harm's way, so she had to be satisfied with patting her hair down and a sulky pout.

"Actually," Martin said thoughtfully. "I've got a few contacts in the trade. I could put the word around on your behalf?"

"Really?" Nancy asked, allowing her voice to raise an excited octave. "Daddy, wouldn't that be terrific?"

*****

Fenton had visited four hotels on foot before he applied some rationale to his actions and realised his mistake; he'd been aimlessly wandering from one building to another, without any sort of plan. He'd forgotten to take into account his prey's psyche, failed to consider what kind of hotel a little rich kid like Bobbie Shandley would book herself into. This was a girl who was used to day-to-day luxuries, she wouldn't have opted for a middle-of-the-road motel, unlike him or his sons – she'd have gone at least four-star.

So Fenton returned to the pages he'd torn from Carson Drew's yellow pages and scanned the list. There appeared to be only one hotel of that type in the whole of River Heights: _The Buccaneer_, and it was a short ten-minute walk away.

Before long, he was pushing his way through the heavy revolving door after passing the doorman who touched the peak of his cap before bidding him a good afternoon.

Fenton stepped from the doorway into the hotel's marble and mahogany lobby, hearing the humming of air-conditioning and smelling the fresh scent of cut flowers. Immediately, there was a porter at his shoulder offering to take his coat and help him with any luggage he might have. Fenton smiled and waved him away before stepping up to the front desk, further observing that there were guests seated at tables, reading newspapers, having teas and coffees or simply talking. All of whom would be able to overhear him if he wasn't careful.

A tall, thin, elegant man came forward, not a hair out of place, a carefully knotted tie, an overly starched shirt, and pants with a crease that could cut paper. "Can I be of assistance, sir?" he asked, in what the Brits would refer to as a 'toff' accent.

"I'm hoping so." Fenton gave a meaningful look and pushed his FBI badge forward and showed it to him, ensuring that none of the patrons could see.

The man smiled gratefully and indicated that Fenton should follow him to the other end and around the corner so they could no longer be observed.

"How may I be of help, Agent Hardy?" the clerk asked again once they were out of audible range.

"I'm trying to track down a young lady that might be, or may have been, staying here."

The Clerk nodded and turned one of the computer screens towards himself and moved one of the keyboards to within easier reach. "Name?"

"Bobbie Shandley, although she may not have registered herself under that name."

The whole time Fenton had been talking, the desk clerk had been tapping at the keyboard and reading the screen. Eventually he shook his head. "No Bobbie Shandley. However, there _is_ a Miss Bobbie Smith who is staying alone, paid in cash for two weeks."

"Is this her?" Fenton asked, passing the well-thumbed photograph across.

The clerk glanced at it and shook his head. "To tell you the truth, I've only been working here for a short time. Allow me to show it to a couple of my colleagues."

He swept to the other end of the front desk and pulled an equally dapperly dressed female into close conversation. He showed her the picture, which she looked at thoughtfully and glanced back at Fenton. Finally, she whispered something to the clerk who stepped into her position and she approached the elder Hardy.

"Hello. Agent Hardy isn't it? Rafe tells me you're looking for Miss Smith? I was wondering when someone would come asking after her."

"You recognise the young woman in that photo? Fenton asked excitedly.

"Yes, of course. I checked her into the hotel and was keeping my eye on her. Well, I was up until a while ago when I didn't see her any more."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she went out one afternoon, but didn't come back."

Fenton's brow furrowed. "She didn't return? Did you raise the alarm?"

"Mr Hardy, you have to appreciate that we're a hotel, we don't pry into our guests' private matters. Miss Smith is paid up for her entire stay. She left clear instructions that she did not wish any contact with staff unless she requested it, and that included the maid service. None of us have been into her room since the day she left. If she hadn't returned by tomorrow, we'd have phoned the police, because we would have had to clear the room."

"So, what you're saying is that your hotel has a policy of 'not getting involved' until someone's money has run out and it becomes an inconvenience?" The woman balked, as though he'd slapped her. "You said you were keeping an eye on her, but you were really keeping an eye on her money. So her room hasn't been touched and all her property is still in there?"

"I believe so, but—"

The woman's face had grown crimson and Fenton could tell she was about to start arguing with him by the way she'd tensed. "In that case, I need to see her room," Fenton said, sharply.

The desk clerk treated him to an acidic glare. "Without a search warrant, that's just not possible."

Fenton leaned to read the name from her staff badge. "With all due respect…Jennifer—" he rested his hands on the counter top, "—If you don't show me to her room, I'm going to start causing a commotion, and before you can say the words 'Police Intimidation', there'll be cops swarming all over your nice upscale hotel, interviewing all the staff, and harassing your rich guests. What do you think that will do for your hotel's reputation? Especially when the press find out that a young, pretty, innocent, senator's daughter disappeared off the face of the earth and your hotel did nothing to help."

"Senator's daughter?" The clerk pursed her lips, regarded Fenton up and down, and eventually turned to lift a key down from one of the hooks behind her head. "Follow me, Agent Hardy." She stiffly moved to the end of the front desk, lifted up a hinged section and slipped out from behind.

Jennifer led Fenton to a deeply carpeted set of stairs and mounted them to take him to the second floor corridor. She then strode ahead until she reached the sixth door on the left. Moving swiftly, she'd arrived a good few seconds before Fenton, so she was already pushing the door open and entering as he reached the room. There was a 'Do Not Disturb' sign hanging on the outside doorknob to illustrate that Bobbie really hadn't wanted to be bothered.

As he walked in, he heard Jennifer take a sharp intake of air and speeded up slightly to see what had caused her reaction. He saw what she'd seen and made a similar noise himself.

"Well, someone's been busy—" he muttered, staring around.

"I hope that's not going to damage the wallpaper!"

On the walls were many many pictures of different cars. All of which Fenton had seen on the list of missing vehicles. In the center of the main room wall was a massive map of the East Coast of America, upon which sticky dots had been adhered. Each had a number penned upon it that related back to each photograph. Fenton approached and peeled down one corner of the map to take a peek behind.

"Don't panic, she's not used tacks or sticky tape, just putty," Fenton assured Jennifer. "No harm done." He stepped back and took in the sight of the map properly. "This is brilliant!" he admitted, and said under his breath. "Every vehicle that was boosted, mapped out to show the spread of the crimes. Bobbie was looking for a pattern. Must have taken her hours—"

"Sorry?" Jennifer asked.

"Hmm?" Fenton jumped back into the now, realising he'd been thinking aloud. "Oh, nothing. You can leave me now, Jennifer. I need to make a sweep of the room."

Jennifer did as she was told and began backing out, realising that arguing against the might of Fenton Hardy's singular mind wasn't worth the exertion.

"I'll let you know when I've finished," he assured her.

Fenton followed and shut the door after she'd exited. He returned to the room and pulled a chair up to sit down in front of the map and study it for a while. He frowned, stood up again and moved closer until he was looking at a particular area. "Clever girl!"

He needed to pack up all of Bobbie's belongings, including the pictures, and return to Nancy's house.


	16. Chapter 16

**Boosting - Chapter 16**

"Remind me of why we're doing this again?" Con asked Nancy as he coasted his car to a stop at the rear of the car dealership under cover of darkness.

"How many more times?"

Con turned in his seat. "Look, this sort of thing might come second nature to you, but I've spent the last quarter decade operating on the right side of law, this doesn't sit comfortably with me."

She laughed, he scowled.

"Your face!" Nancy exclaimed. "Con, you're only here because you insist on accompanying me everywhere!"

He tipped his head and carried on waiting.

"Okay! For the final time…we're doing this because I'm damned if I'm going to allow this tin-pot company to sell Frank's car out from under us, and I'm not prepared to part with any cash for it either – why should I line their pockets any more than they already have been?"

"And what about when they report the place was broken into tomorrow and one of their cars was boosted? It won't take the Chief long to work out who was responsible."

"That's the beauty of it, Con. Martin won't report the burglary, because that would mean admitting that he either stole Frank's convertible, or was in possession of stolen goods. But tomorrow, when we get confirmation back from the DMV as to how such a convincing car registration document was put together, it won't matter. And at the end of the day…hello…we can't steal something that already belongs to us!"

Con's mouth closed into a tight line and Nancy could see his brain whirring as he checked and double-checked the points she'd delivered. She made a big play of reaching for the door handle to force him into a decision and looked back expectantly.

Eventually, he threw himself back in his seat and capitulated. "What am I doing?" he groaned to himself. "I can't believe I'm actually goin' to do this."

"Good man!" Nancy said. "And besides, I needed a strong guy."

Con cast a suspicious look. "What for?"

"You'll find out!" she said mysteriously and left the car.

She was half way to the building before Con caught up with her, appearing at her side and going ahead to lead the way.

"Not that way, Con." Nancy said, gently veering him away from the main back doors. "Go to the side entrance."

Luckily for the both of them, the rear of the property consisted of an empty parking lot, overgrown grass and gnarly trees with no other properties directly overlooking. The showroom was at the edge of the industrial section of Bayport, and all the surrounding businesses were shut at that hour of the night. Although there must have been some security presence, it was concentrated towards the central, more affluent area of the complex. It was doubtful whether a used car garage would attract much need for security. Even so, Nancy and Con stuck to the shadows and had worn dark clothes.

They reached the side door and Con dipped to examine the lock. "If you can jimmy this, I'll be impressed," he remarked.

"I'm not even going to bother trying. I can't do anything with a deadbolt."

"Then why exactly are we at this door if we can't get in this way?"

"Because we're not actually getting in through the door. I wanted to come here so I could disable the building's alarm system." Nancy pointed up towards the top of the door. "See that junction box?"

Con nodded.

"That's the alarm."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"It's got the alarm manufacturer's name imprinted on the front – which you obviously can't see in this light."

"Then how do you know it's got the maker's name on it?"

"I went on a reconnaissance mission real early on this morning before I came into work to take a look-see at the place."

"You came here, without me?" Con was annoyed.

"Yes, before the dealership opened. I told you, I work alone usually and some habits are hard to break. Besides, it's easier to get away with things if you're a woman. People aren't usually as suspicious."

Con looked down at Nancy as Nancy looked at him, both mirroring each other's stances – hands on hips, eyes narrowed and challenging. Nancy couldn't make out Con's features with any clarity, but she was willing to bet it he was giving her a look of paternal consternation.

"Drew, you are proving to be a handful. I wish I'd gone with Fenton."

Nancy pulled her hair back and clipped it out of the way, stray strawberry blonde tendrils escaping and falling down about her face until she tucked them behind her ears. "No you don't. You'd have missed out on all the fun." She took the small backpack from her shoulders, took out a small ratchet set and clipped it to her belt.

Con snorted. "That's the most valid point you've made all evening."

"I knew you were a thrill seeker on the quiet. Now give me a boost so I can reach that junction box."

Con tittered. "C'mon then, kiddo, climb aboard." He went down into a crouch for Nancy to straddle his shoulders and stood up to draw her level with the conduit. "How's that?"

"Perfect, and a little higher than I was expecting to be, you're really tall, Con." She pulled out her penlight and held it in her mouth to illuminate the area and selected the most appropriate screw head for the job and started work on removing the outer plate, eventually working it loose of its casing. Handing it down to Con, she was able to free up one of her hands in order to take the flashlight out of her mouth to hold it instead. She went on to start working the wires loose.

"Not only is Martin cheap and basic, but his alarm system is as well," she remarked, grappling with her screwdriver. Eventually the wire came free and the red light to the right of the box went off. "So simple, a child could have done it. It didn't even have an anti-tampering, back-up system. Pass the cover back up, Con." She accepted it back and slotted it over the casement, leaving the screws on top of the box for later. "Done."

Con set her back on her feet

"We need to get up onto the roof," she said.

And Con's hands were back on his hips. "Nancy! Have you forgotten so quickly that the last time someone had to scale a roof, it all ended in tears? Phone Joe, he'll remind you. What's the obsession with you and the Hardy men when it comes to roofs?"

Nancy tutted and rolled her eyes. "The only way we're going to get in is through the skylight. I can't pick the locks, but I sure as heck can open a skylight. Once we're inside, we can open the main back door by remote."

Con spun on his heels and made a noise in the back of his throat. "Darn it all! You're asking me to climb, aren't you, Drew?"

She dropped her chin in confirmation; realising Con was looking a tad worried.

But despite his expression, Con said, "Jeepers-creepers…right…okay—" and rubbed his hands briskly. He turned to a down pipe and gave it a hard tug and then looked across at one of the windows. "Oh boy. I hate climbing, I'm too old for his!" He reached up high and gripped on before putting his toe against the first strut and slowly lifted himself up, using his biceps and shoulders every bit as much as his legs. He then reached and carefully planted his other foot onto the window ledge, before repeating the whole process again.

Although his movements were slow, careful and cumbersome, he was making steady progress and eventually his head was level with the edge of the roof, hands groping up to cling to the ledge. Then he froze for a good few long seconds, his face aimed upwards and stock-still.

With a sense of guilt, it was becoming evident to Nancy that Con wasn't great with heights and suspected he was only scaling the building so she wouldn't have to go first. Then, all at once, he made a mad kind of jumping movement and tried to pull himself over, but he slipped and scrapped the toes of his boots as his feet scrambled to try and gain some purchase.

Nancy gasped and stepped back out of the way as she thought he was going to fall – but he clumsily, and with a sense of panic, finally hauled and heaved his weight over the rest of the way, going face first over the low walled ledge, his legs folding up and following after in a jumble. There was a splash as Con, came into close association with a puddle of water on the other side.

"That was elegant!" Nancy called up to him when his head appeared a few seconds later over the edge.

"I'm built for strength, not style. Do you reckon you can get up here?"

"Just watch me," Nancy said and started making her way up the same way he had, but with much more finesse and dexterity. Once she was three quarters of the way there, Con's strong arms found her and near enough lifted and carried her the rest of the way.

"You okay?" he asked, setting her down.

"Yes thanks. Did you get wet?" she asked walking away towards the skylight, deciding not to embarrass him by remarking on his lack of climbing skills.

Con shrugged. "Only my hands."

Nancy dipped down next to the skylight and gave it a tug, unsurprised to find it firmly sealed shut. So she delved within the confines of her backpack again and extracted a thin metal bar. "Hold this and shine it there," she requested, passing across her flashlight.

Con illuminated the window catch on the other side of the glass and inspected the area closely. "Actually, Nancy, that won't work. Have you got a craft knife of some sort in that bag of goodies you've been carrying?"

"Yes I have." She rummaged within and pulled forth a sharp blade.

Con returned the light to Nancy and went about slicing through the rubber waterproof beading surrounding the window. Once that was done, he picked at the end until it came loose and pulled until he'd stripped the entire length away from the plastic reinforcing strip. "Now your trick will work."

Nancy slid the metal bar in through the small gap between the roof and the skylight and wiggled it until it came into contact with the catch. With a quick jerk, the lock slipped across and clicked open. Then without withdrawing the blade to stop the spring action catch from locking across again, she pulled open the glass cover. She was taken by surprise at how heavy it was and almost dropped it, but Con's hand was there to halt its fall and he swung it open the remainder of the way until it was leaning against the roof.

"I once said to Fen that Frank would make a great cat burglar, now I'm starting to think you could both join forces and bleed Bayport dry!"

Nancy laughed. "Frank and me, 'burglars extraordinaire'. No one would suspect us because we're such hotshot detectives, like a modern day Bonnie and Clyde – but without the guns and the killin', of course!"

Con joined in: "And me and Fen would be hired to look into the robberies with you two throwing obstacles in our way to put us off the scent. You'd be the last people we'd suspect – although Joe would have an idea, but due to his dogged loyalty, would be gagged. Eventually, we'd bust you both though…what the hell are we talking about, Drew?"

Nancy was regarding him sideways. "I can't help but feel we've become a tad distracted."

"Mm—"

Con turned to catch Nancy's eye and they both laughed at each other before peering down the open hatch into the darkness, unable to see the floor below until Nancy aimed her flashlight down.

Con audibly gulped. "That's a long drop, kiddo. There's no way I'm jumping that far."

"You won't need to. This is why I needed a strong guy. You're going to lower me as far as possible and I'll drop the rest of the way. Then I'll get the ladder that I saw in the back office and you can climb down that way.

Con started shaking his head vehemently. "No way Drew, you'll break your leg, or worse."

"No I won't, I'll do a break fall, it's not as far as it looks—"

Con continued his negative head shaking.

"Honestly, Con, I've got sponge bones, never broken one in my life. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

Con stood up and stepped back, hands on his hips. "You might know what you're doing, but I don't trust myself. I'm not doing it. I'd never forgive myself if you got hurt."

Nancy pursed her lips. "I'm going in there one way or the other. So you can either helped me, or watch me jump. It's up to you."

"Does your father always let you have your own way?"

"Not always, but I know my own limitations and I'm single minded."

"Understatement—"

"C'mon Con!"

Con sighed loudly, the noise ending in a grunt. Nancy took this as an agreement and grinned at him as he made a small but significant movement with his index finger and came forward again. "I need my head examined," he decided, going down on his knees.

Giving her friend no time to change his mind, Nancy wordlessly turned her body around and dropped her legs over into the showroom. Con reached urgently to grab onto her collar to support her in case she slipped and she allowed her body to slide until she was leaning on her stomach. "Give me your hand," she said and held her right arm out.

They both held onto one another's wrists, which was a stronger hold than simply gripping hands and Nancy grabbed on to his sleeve with her other arm, letting go of the edge of the skylight. She locked onto his worried eyes and said: "It's okay Con, I trust you." And allowed her body to slide entirely over the edge and into thin air, the world opening up around her, Con taking the strain.

"Lower me down as far as you can, but don't let go until I tell you to."

"I hadn't planning on letting you go at all, remember!" Con said through gritted teeth, his voice sounding strained.

She began to feel a slow shift as Con started to move onto his belly, his head and shoulder leaning into the building, his other hand holding tightly on to the opposite edge of the skylight opening. "That's about as far as I can safely lower you, Drew, without falling through myself. You're gonna have to drop the rest of the way, but I don't think I can let you go."

"Bye Con," Nancy said in reply and released her own hold knowing there'd be little chance of him supporting her deadweight for long by one arm without her also gripping on – no matter how mighty he was.

"Nancy!" Con shouted in horror as her wrist, followed by the hand, and finally her fingers slipped through his fist. He instinctively made a swiping action to try and catch her, but she was gone and dropping away from him into the darkness. There was a thudding noise, a grunt, and seconds later a shuffling noise, followed by an ominous silence. "Nancy!" he hissed again. "Are you all right?…Nancy?"

*****

Joe was sitting out on the porch on the third step, watching Frank who was seated on the ground by his knee, fiddling with the component on his bike that had come loose. Joe wasn't only watching and passing tools across though, he was thinking hard about Frank's lack of sleep problem.

Joe had come so tantalizingly close on that first day to Frank opening up before his attack of cramps, which had obviously frightened his brother more than Joe had realised. Ever since, every tactic had been used to evade the subject – from turning it into an _'it's all about Joe'_ session, to simply saying _'I'm too tired/I don't want to talk about it'_. The guilt evidently still hanging heavily about Frank's shoulders.

Joe retrospectively took himself back to his own experience when he was having nightmares about Iola's precipitous death. He'd had to explore the reasons why the dreams were happening in the first place, and had gotten right down to the crux of the matter before they'd started to stop, both in frequency and intensity. But talking about them had helped right from the go get. So unless Frank did the same, Joe expected that the dreams would simply continue.

The biggest problem was that Frank's mental exhaustion wasn't helping him want to share; he was too irritable and fatigued to want to even help himself. Frank simply didn't have the energy to kick up to the surface and was slowly drowning.

Of course, that wouldn't necessarily be too big a deal because the expression that _'time is a great healer'_ is actually true. But the overriding problem was that Frank didn't have that sort of time as he was in charge of a high-powered, kick-ass motorcycle, and one that he'd already taken a tumble off right in front of a truck! Frank had lucked out, big time, in avoiding being crushed, if the huge vehicle had been moving faster – if the driver had been distracted and his reactions hadn't been what they were…well, it didn't bear thinking about.

"_Yep, this is a classic vicious cycle!"_ Joe concluded. _"Only one thing for it_—_"_

"Beer?" Joe asked his brother.

"Good call."

Joe went back into the cabin and lifted two bottles from the refrigerator and set them on the counter. He then went to his room and took the little vial of pills from his nightstand. It was the medication he'd been prescribed for his cramps, the medication that had knocked him out so effectively.

He knew he shouldn't be using prescribed drugs on another person, but Joe considered this an emergency and a measured risk he was willing to take. He didn't want to see his brother sliding bodily under the wheels of a truck again any time soon: that was a scary time! He shook two out of the container and screwed the cap down again before returning to the beers.

Joe snapped the lids off both bottles and – after checking Frank wasn't watching him through the door – separated the pills outer casing and tipped two tablets worth of powder into the amber colored liquid and gave it a gentle twirl with his thumb over the top. After, he took a quick sip of Frank's drink, satisfied that the concoction tasted of nothing more than beer.

Joe headed back outside again. "Here you go, dude."

Frank accepted the bottle, took a good mouthful, swirled it about his mouth and swallowed. Then he raised it to his lips again.

Despite trying to act nonchalant, Joe realised he'd balked as Frank had taken that first mouthful, but immediately he straightened his face and shifted his gaze towards the lake. He watched Frank in his peripheral vision as he froze and studied Joe for a few long seconds. But when Joe didn't move, Frank seemed to shake off whatever momentary frisson of unease he'd experienced and took that second drink before setting the bottle to one side.


	17. Chapter 17

**Boosting - Chapter 17**

Joe settled back down onto the porch steps and took a long drink from his bottle of beer, watching Frank taking sips from his own drug-laced bottle. "How you feeling, Frank?"

"Knee's a bit stiff is all, bro, it'll be better by morning."

"That's good, dude, although I wasn't meaning your knee. I thought you might, you know, be ready to have a chat about things, now that we've cleared the air about the job situation? You did say last night that you would."

"What sort of things?" Frank asked, sounding disinterested and returning to his bike.

"About the Pandora Posse and everything that happened. Maybe get a few things off your chest – those dreams you've been having?"

The wrench Frank was holding suddenly slipped from his fingers and he clumsily grappled with it before it finally fell to the ground. He flashed Joe a strange, unreadable look before scooping it up and returning his attention to the bike. "I don't have anything I want to get off my chest. If I wanted to talk things though, I'd do that with my doctor."

"I don't believe you," Joe said evenly.

"Don't believe what? That I don't have anything to talk about, or that I talk to my therapist?"

"Both—"

Frank chuckled humourlessly, a hard, grating noise. "With all due respect, it doesn't matter what you believe, bro." He picked up his beer again and drank some more. "Pass me that other wrench, would you?"

Joe handed it across. "Are you ever goin' to share? I might want to talk you know, pal – we were all affected by it!"

Frank appeared to be considering the very valid point Joe had made. "I'm not stopping you from talking."

"Dude, you so are! How can I when it's like tryin' to converse with a brick wall?"

Frank shrugged his shoulders. "Can't help you with that one, Bro. I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm not a 'sharing' kind-o guy."

"Whatever! You never used to be like that." Joe muttered. "Sit out here and drink your beer." He left huffily to go into the cabin and play with the telescope.

Fifteen minutes later, Joe came to stand in the doorway again to see what progress, if any, the sedative was making. Frank was still fiddling with his bike, but now was on the other side of the machine looking at his hands as though he had sausages for fingers. Joe leaned up against the banister and observed the empty beer bottle resting on the top step of the porch. "How's it goin'?"

"I…erm…yeah, okay, almost done," Frank answered. "Only—"

"Only what?"

Frank reached up and grasped on to the handlebars of the bike to pull himself up onto his feet. He turned to Joe with his eyebrows knitted into a worried expression. "I feel…weird!"

Joe casually meandered down the steps to approach him. "What? Even more weirder then usual?"

"Very funny, Bro. Groggy weird, almost like—" and then he staggered and began to drop.

"Whoa!" Joe exclaimed, covering the last couple of steps at a run to catch his older brother before his fall resulted in him crashing into the bike. Joe bore his weight, Frank already unable to support himself fully. "I gotcha!" Joe said, readjusted his posture and smoothly hoisted his brother up into a classic fireman's carry. _"Those pills are good!"_

Frank was so surprised that he just allowed it to happen, his body loose.

"This is all those sleepless nights catching up with you!" Joe assured him and carried him indoors, "or maybe you can't hold your liquor?" He moved speedily across the seating area.

"What?" Frank asked, muffled from over Joe's back.

Joe entered his brother's bedroom and dipped to turn the bedclothes down with his free hand, before unfurling Frank onto the mattress. "You're over-tired, Frank, so your body's telling you to have a nap," he explained vaguely and sat down.

"Bull! I know what you did! Drugging your own brother, Joe? That's a new category of low." Frank glared challengingly up at him through heavily lidded eyes.

Joe said nothing in response to deny the accusation – Frank had worked it out anyway, so what was the point? But then something happened that caused Joe to realise that Frank had only really suspected it, didn't want to believe it – that was, until Joe had failed to refute the claim.

A micro-expression of betrayal washed over Frank's face and seconds later, a surprised Joe found himself exiting at breakneck speed from the bed, hitting his shoulder against the nightstand, the collision resulting in both him and the small table hitting the floor at the same time, a lamp missing his head by mere inches. The shrill words _"You suck!"_ following on loudly.

Frank still clearly had enough whits to have noted that Joe was so close to the edge of the bed that he was off balance. One quick, carefully placed almighty shove later, and Joe had disgracefully tumbled off, allowing Frank the opportunity to throw his quick angry insult and make a bid of escape – his legs might not have been working properly, but there was nothing wrong with his upper body strength!

Joe got slowly up, unable to move at speed as the wind had been knocked out of him and his shoulder was burning. He started rotating it in its socket to relieve the pain and watched as Frank stood up on the other side of the bed, intent upon leaving the room, possibly even the cabin. However, he only managed to take three weaving, staggered steps before spinning awkwardly on the balls of his feet. He landed on his side with a thud, got up onto his knees and made a clumsy forward lunge, collapsing face down, half in and half out of the doorway.

"Why is this happening?" Frank asked himself, sounding crushed. "Why can't people just leave me alone?" He raised himself again half onto his knees and slithered out of sight on the polished wooden flooring.

Joe wasn't sure what sort of a reaction he'd expected. Yes, he didn't think he'd be happy, but this strength of response was wholly unforeseen. He'd counted on Frank simply surrendering himself to sleep, but obviously that wasn't to be. Now there was the worry that if Frank didn't calm down, he'd end up injuring himself. How could such a simple plan have gone so wrong?

So Joe rounded the bed in pursuit and stepped through the doorway to find that Frank had pulled himself across the length of the seating area and was now at the dining table, reaching out in order to use it to help himself back to his feet – no doubt to leave via the wide-open front door. "You're not goin' anywhere!" Joe said, determinedly.

Frank glanced back. "Stop being a jerk and leave me alone!" he shouted, desperately trying to scramble away as his younger brother strode across.

Ignoring Frank's protestations, Joe placed one leg on either side to sit down heavily across his bother's hips and stop his progress. Frank rolled onto his back to meet him and Joe found himself instantly blocking attacking arms. "Frank, can't you see you're wasting energy fighting me? Dude, the pills are fully in your system. Heck, I could leave you rolling about on the floor; you're goin' to pass out eventually with or without my help. I'm only stopping you from hurting yourself…HEY!" Horrified, Joe hit Frank's hand sharply as his fingers made a move to make himself vomit. "Frank, man… what the hell?!"

"Get off me, get freakin' off me right NOW!" Frank shouted, putting up a fierce fight. "I don't want to sleep, bro, what's the matter with you?" He went back to stretching for the leg of the table, but Joe grabbed the arm and yanked it back to hold it down.

"Quit thrashing about, would ya Frank…it's like dealing with a squirming kid!" Joe was beginning to lose his cool. He was starting to get annoyed at being jostled about as Frank made concerted efforts to buck him off.

"You've got no right doing this – no right!" Frank's breaths coming in short sharp gasps as he next tried to roll over, so Joe aimed a firm hand high up on his chest to hold him down and wait for the sedative to take full effect.

Although Frank was much weakened, Joe still didn't want to try manoeuvring such an unwilling and strong patient to his bed in such an excitable state. But things were looking up – Joe noted with satisfaction that although Frank was still battling, his physical struggling was becoming weaker and the hand set up high on Frank's chest was having the desired effect of holding him steady. "Relax, yeah? Stop freaking out!"

Frank gripped onto Joe's shirt. "Don't do this to me, I'm begging you. You don't know what you're doing!"

Joe shook his head and stared out through the front door, no longer prepared to engage with Frank's irrationalness, even visually.

In due course Frank's struggles became more and more pathetic and intermittent until he wasn't moving at all, his grip loosening and slipping from his brother's front, landing with a gentle thud next to his waist. He was still vocalising however, even if less lucidly, loudly and less frequently.

Joe took the gamble of lifting hovering hands, ready to drop them back if Frank was faking, but he didn't move, simply gazed back, so Joe dismounted and went to slip off his brother's boots and socks and throw them to one side. Then he pulled down the zipper of his jacket and worked limp arms free of it and lastly stripped him of his heavy sweater. By the time he'd finished, Frank's eyes were closed and he didn't appear conscious.

He moved to pull Frank up into a seated position and dipped to put his arms around Frank's body and pull him in close to raise both himself and his brother until they were both upright, Frank's cheek leaning heavily against his shoulder. Lifting his brother off his feet in a bear hug, he lugged him ungainly into the other room again and half threw him down onto the bed. "Sorry Frank. Hope I didn't hurt ya?"

Frank must have still been half-awake after all because he was looking back at Joe again and darkly murmuring.

Finally, Joe placed his brother into the recovery position, manoeuvring his head closer to the edge of the bed so that if he vomited, he wouldn't choke or asphyxiate.

"Joe…don't—" Joe was able to hear what Frank was saying now that his head was so close to his mouth.

Crouching, Joe talked directly into Frank's face. "It's too late. You can tear a strip off me in the morning, but right now, you are sleeping, dude, whether you like it or not!"

"Don't send me there—"

"It's for your own good." Joe pulled the blankets up over his brother, hoisted the table back into place and replaced the lamp before sitting down on the floor with his back against the nightstand. He went back to rubbing his sore shoulder.

"You don't know…what you've done—" Frank slurred and his eyes closed. Two seconds later they opened again for a moment, and with a haunted expression he whispered the words: "Back off—" and then he was silent.

For a nanosecond, Joe thought he saw a flicker of fear as Frank's eyes slid closed for the final time and he slept deeply, but he discarded the theory almost as soon as it entered his head. "You put up quite a fight there, Frankster – you're not well, are you?" The thought occurred to him as to how their roles had lately reversed. Anyone looking in from the outside would be forgiven in assuming that he was the older brother, not the other way around.

*****

Fenton had bidden goodnight to Hannah two hours before with a promise that he wouldn't stay up for much longer. He had practically lied to her, truth be told. His brain was too full of information, the pull of his sense of duty too strong. He felt that every second of downtime he allowed himself meant the longer Bobbie Shandley would be missing, and there would be less of a chance of finding her at all.

Sleep deprivation had never worried him much; he regularly survived on five hours a night. Laura hated it, but that was the way of his body clock. He was a night owl, she a sleepy head. What was of concern, however, was that he was gazing at the maps that Bobbie had worked so hard on, and neither were making much sense.

When Fenton had packed away her belongings at the hotel, he'd come across another smaller map that had been left open on the dressing table. It was of River Heights, upon which Bobbie had laid down dots into a more concentrated spread. Why she'd done this purely for Nancy's hometown was anyone's guess, but she'd gone to a lot of trouble.

Fenton was working on the assumption that Bobbie had seen something that had prompted her to leave the hotel that day, and felt he should try and work out what it was and follow on after her. But what she'd spotted was eluding him, and it was burning his ego – how had such an inexperienced, young, would-be-P.I. been able to see something he couldn't?

Hannah had been kind enough to allow him to commandeer the dining room in his quest and he'd recreated the montage of pictures on the walls, the maps taking center stage. The trouble was, it hadn't helped, he felt like all the doors that had previously been wide open in his brain, the one's that allowed the free flow of contemplation and reflection had been closed. Maybe he was more tired than he thought?

He raised his palms in annoyance and then let them drop to his side with a slap. If only Con was with him, they could at least throw around some ideas, have a brain storming session. It was hard to do that on his own, impossible.

Fenton decided to allow himself ten minutes of relaxation to think of anything other than those darned maps and started making his way to the kitchen to help himself to a coffee. He didn't bother to turn on the hall light; he didn't want to disturb Hannah. Instead, he laid his fingertips against the wall and walked along, tracing his path until his hand was stopped by the edge of the doorframe. He entered the room and reached out to where he expected the light switch would be, but his hand landed on nothing. He put his flat palm against the wall and started sweeping, but after 30 seconds, he knew he wasn't going to find it, so he turned and started feeling his way back again to switch on the hall light, as he should have done in the first place!

He was about half way along when he discerned a shuffling noise behind him and was halfway to turning when something hit him hard across the back of the head with a resounding metallic clang, the force propelling him forward and jarring his neck. The hand that was still connected with the wall instinctively groped for support, but he felt himself sliding forward anyway, dazzling stars dancing in front of his eyes, unable to halt or slow his descent. He didn't feel himself hit the floor, must have blacked out for an instant, but then felt itchy carpet riding hard up against his cheek. A great weight bore down on his back as a body dropped down on to him and something was pushed firmly between his shoulder blades.

"_Don't move an inch! Move and I'll pull the trigger."_

Fenton squeezed his eyes even tighter shut, trying to cope with the solid hurt that was gripping the back of his head in a vice, making him feel sick. He had to make a real effort to speak, and when he did, it was delivered in a drunken slur. "I know the difference between a gun, and someone using their finger!"

"_Wha—?"_ asked the astonished voice. The finger withdrew.

Light suddenly flooded the space. Fenton didn't know who'd done it, but he'd seen the atmospheric change through his eyelids and it made his head hurt even more. He pushed a hand to his eyes.

Then came Hannah's squawking voice. "Carson! What on earth are you doing?" she snapped and gasped. "What have you done, you silly man!?"

"Wasn't my fault!" Carson Drew argued, sounding to Fenton like he was a big kid having been caught scrapping by his mother. "I came home to find him creeping about in the dark and thought it was a burglar!"

"_You are __so__ grounded!"_ Fenton thought.

"He's not a burglar, he's a house guest!"

"Hannah! Are you inviting in waifs and strays again?"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

Fenton felt the weight finally shift off and the touch of gentler hands. "Goodness, are you all right?" Hannah asked, stroking the back of his neck.

Fenton didn't answer; he couldn't, afraid he'd throw up if he attempted to and he didn't want to ruin the nice carpet. So he waved with his free hand instead.

Carson sounded aggrieved. "You could have warned me he was here. I hit him over the head with a frying pan! I assumed we were being robbed, or worse. Who is he anyway?" His voice had grown louder as he leaned in closer. "Fenton Hardy, is that you?" he asked after a pause, all astonishment.

"Yes." Fenton muttered and moved his hand down to squint up at him, seeing four concerned blue eyes and an elongated mop of brown hair hanging freely down over an unfeasibly wide forehead. There was no sign of Hannah. He hoped she hadn't gone far, he needed some comfort.

"I'm sorry Fenton," he said sheepishly. "Did I hurt you?"

"Well…duh! Can you both argue a bit quieter." He went back to shading his face with his hand again. "I didn't know you had a twin."

Carson Drew snorted.


	18. Chapter 18

**Boosting - Chapter 18**

Hannah was back, leaning over the fallen Hardy.

Fenton knew it was Hannah because she smelled good and was making tender crooning noises. An icepack was pushed against the back of his head where he'd been struck, and her other hand was massaging the nape of his neck. The pain started to recede along with the sickness. Being mothered and pecked over felt kinda nice; it had been a long time since he'd had that experience. _"I guess you're never too old for your mom!"_

Presently, he found he was able to sit up again, lean against the wall, and take in what was happening. Carson was absent this time, Hannah kneeling in front of him, donned in a nightdress and gown, keen eyes studying his face. Fenton took over the icepack and touched the injured area with his other hand, checking there was no blood involved.

Carson was back, presenting him with a glass of water, like he'd won a prize. "Feeling better?"

"Getting there," Fenton assured him with a smile. "I knew I should have turned that light on – must remember to tell Laura about the frying pan trick the next time she discovers a nefarious character in the house!" He took a guarded sip of the water.

Fenton eventually passed Hannah the half empty tumbler and with Carson's help, climbed to his feet. He felt a bit light-headed but not too bad. He certainly didn't feel like he was going to keel over again.

"Do you want me to run you to the ER?" Carson asked, escorting him into the living room and down on to the sofa.

"No, it's not that bad. You got a good aim though. Did you play baseball at school?"

Carson laughed loudly. "Me? Baseball? I didn't do any sports at school if I could help it. Do I look like I was jock material? Spent more time being shut in my locker than being on a baseball field. Nerd born and bred."

"You should've considered it." Fenton said with a watery grin.

Hannah sat down next to her guest, put her arm around his shoulders and addressed Carson. "I would have told you about Fenton, but I wasn't expecting you home for another couple of days."

"Yes, I'm sorry Hannah, I should have called to let you know. We finished our business sooner than expected. It was so late that I didn't want to disturb you and decided to come home." Carson addressed Fenton and started removing his tie. "Why are you here – not that it's not good to see you, it's been a long time, but we weren't expecting a visit, were we?" He undid his top button and scratched at his chin tiredly. "Nancy's okay, isn't she? It's not Frank again is it?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm on a case, and the trail led me here. I didn't intend on staying but Hannah railroaded me into it." He suddenly winced and tipped his head to one side. "Hannah, could I trouble you for some aspirin?"

She patted his thigh and arose to fetch them leaving the men alone.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a run to the ER so they can have a look at you?" Carson asked.

"No, I'll be okay once the painkillers set in."

While they were waiting for Hannah to return, Fenton explained to Carson about the case and Bobbie Shandley. Carson was as concerned for the family in Pennsylvania, his sympathy all the keener because of Nancy and how he would cope if she disappeared for any length of time. By the time Fenton had finished, Hannah was back and tipping tablets into Fenton's palm.

While Fenton was washing them down, Carson wandered into the dining room to take a peek at the maps for himself.

Fenton unsteadily followed to find Carson viewing them with a deep frown.

"No cars have been taken from here," he observed, pointing to a particular area of the River Heights map.

Shifting the icepack to another area of his head, Fenton went to stand at his shoulder. "Yes, I saw that too, but there are several areas where no cars have been taken. So I'm not sure whether that's of any significance, although it's the only thing that jumped out at me."

"It's the only expansive area in River Heights not to have had any cars stolen." Carson looked behind him at the documents lying on the table. He went across and picked one particular sheaf of papers up. "Is this the list of the missing cars?"

Fenton nodded, and then regretted it as even that slight movement rewarded him with a shooting pain and the sickness returning. He shifted the ice again and Hannah began clucking around him again, insisting he sit on a dining chair.

Carson was humming as he looked at the list and moved to the map again and started pointing at different dots in turn. "Interesting—"

"What is?"

"Well, a lot of the cars that were stolen at the beginning were from River Heights and the surrounding areas. Only later were they stolen from further afield – not that the thefts stopped in River Heights, they continued afterwards, but not as often.

"_He's not Con, and he's not even a detective, but I guess Carson Drew the lawyer is good enough!" _Fenton considered.

"Give me that list—" Fenton requested. Carson passed it across and he looked at the dates for himself thoughtfully, eventually dropping the icepack absently onto the table to be scooped up by Hannah before it marked the wood. He approached the maps and started looking from the list to them. "The cars started to be stolen from River Heights, but after the first six or so, they headed to the next state down, and the next state and so-on and so-forth. Once they were at the bottom, they began working their way back up again." He ran his fingers through his hair, forgetting how sore his head was and quickly lifting his hand clear when he hit the tender area.

"I wonder why they did that?" Carson said.

Fenton didn't answer. He had a theory, but it wasn't strong enough yet to warrant verbalising it. "What's in this area where no cars have been boosted?" He made a circle with his finger around the area, which was close to a large body of water.

Hannah spoke up. "It's an industrial area, isn't it, Carson?"

"Yes, that's right. So I'm actually not surprised there have been no cars taken. There wouldn't have been any to take. Maybe you're barking up the wrong tree, Fenton."

"Any haulage or export type businesses?" Fenton asked, looking sharply at him.

"Actually, there are quite a few haulage firms in that direction. It's pretty deserted around there. The only people who go there are the workers, and that's during the day, obviously."

Fenton smiled. "And what better place would there be to smuggle stolen cars in and out to other states or from other states – they could presumable even ship them across to Canada?"

Carson was seeing exactly the point Fenton was making. He tapped his finger hard against the River Heights map. "No one would notice someone moving cars, no one would think it odd, no one would bat an eyelid, maybe no one would even notice?" He swung back suddenly to Fenton his brows heavily puckered.

Fenton nodded excitedly, took a couple of skittered sideways steps and swiped for the back of one of the chairs but missed his aim. "And also that would account for how the cars could disappear supposedly off the face of the earth, never to reappear—" he pointed at Carson who was reaching out to him, "—But it wouldn't necessarily account for why I'm seeing your twin again. I'm afraid I think I'm about to—"

"_Catch him, Carson!"_ Fenton heard Hannah shrilly shout.

"_What do you think I'm trying to do, you silly woman?"_

*****

Minutes later, Fenton was coming around, feeling foolish. He had a cold flannel on his forehead, his feet were elevated onto a chair, his hand was grasping tightly onto Hannah's two, and both she and Carson were staring worryingly down on him.

"I think I will take you for that visit to the hospital after all," Carson said and tapped his watch. "Five minutes – must be some sort of a record! How many points would I have got for that baseball hit?"

"Runs, not points," Fenton muttered. "Oh boy – does anyone know a good lawyer? I think I need to sue someone for possible loss of income and personal injury compensation!"

"You don't want to get involved with attorneys, Fenton, they're all a bunch of crooks."

****

Joe stayed propped up silently against Frank's nightstand for another few minutes before saying, "Frank? Hey…bro? Nancy's here, and she's naked!" and clicked his fingers next to his brother's ear. As a final test, he pressed a thumb firmly between Frank's eyes. Nothing, no reaction at all. So satisfied he really was in the land of nod, Joe left to fetch the discarded clothes and boots, laid them on the end of the bed, switched off the light and left.

Joe lingered in the seating area, not sure as to what to do next and glanced at his watch. It was late, but he wasn't tired, the burst of adrenalin having chased away any hope of relaxing for a while. He decided to go and finish off the mechanical job that his brother had been halfway to completing.

He headed for the front door and stepped out, only then seeing that there were two cars parked there, people in uniforms alighting – cops!

One drew forth his police issue gun and aimed it. Simultaneously, three other officers were running full pelt in Joe's direction and yelling instructions:

"_Get down—"_

"_Hands over the back your head—"_

"_Get down on your knees—"_

"_Keep you hands in sight—"_

"_Down onto your front, arms out to the side—"_

All shouting out at the same time, all voices rolling into one continuous and confusing cacophony of noise and disorder. Joe had no time to react other than to raise his hands and have a random, fleeting picture of his father cross his mind as he wondered if something had happened to him. Immediately, the cops were on him, seizing his arms firmly. His feet were kicked out from under and he was flung down onto the porch floor.

One wrist was seized and a cuff snapped on and his other hand was drawn down to join it. Other hands were patting him down and turning his pockets inside out. No one was being respectful or gentle with him. But more worryingly was that one of them was bawling Miranda Rights and he knew that if that was happening, this was serious – as if being hurled to the ground, shackled and forcibly searched wasn't grave enough.

"…_Do you understand?"_ shouted a voice.

"Wha…What's goin' on?" Joe finally blurted out. "What'd I do?"

"…_I said: do you understand your rights?"_

"YEAH, yeah, I understand, but what's goin' on?"

"_Get him up."_

Joe was hauled back to his feet and taken inside the cabin, flanked by two officers.

"What's happening?" he asked again. This time to a stockily built, sandy haired officer who had been, presumably, the one who'd administered his Miranda Rights. He seemed to be the leader of the group as he was issuing the orders.

"Search the place, see if you can find a body or any evidence of foul play." He said to one of his colleagues who peeled away and went to Joe's room.

"Body?" Joe asked. "What are you talking about?"

But no one would communicate or even look at him. They weren't going to let him take any control. They were in charge of the situation – whatever that situation was!

Joe could see and hear his room being ransacked before there was a lull and the officer came out with a headshake and then went into the spare room.

One of the other officers was going through his jacket that was hanging on the back a dining chair, coming up with a wallet. He opened it and rifled though, eventually slipping Joe's driver's licence out and passing it to 'Sandy Hair'.

'Sandy Hair' turned to him. "Can you confirm that you're Mr Joseph Hardy?"

"Yeah, that's me. What's happening – why are you here?" Joe asked, trying to hide that he was getting riled, but then the officer came out of the spare room and moved to enter Frank's and his resolve snapped. "Don't go in there!" he shouted and made to move forward, but was stopped by the two men holding his arms.

'Sandy Hair' looked over his shoulder at the officer, who hesitated for a beat before opening the door and pushing it wide. The room was flooded with light as he flicked the switch.

"That's my brother in there, he's been out of it recently and he's resting. I don't want him disturbed!" Joe said, jerking against the men holding him.

The officer entered Frank's room, ignoring Joe's command and 'Sandy Hair' moved forward to look for himself. He was back seconds later, stomping up to Joe, his face grave. "That's a bit more than resting, Mr Hardy!" he exclaimed. He addressed the officer to the right of Joe. "Get an ambulance out here. Tell them we've got an unconscious man."

Joe could hear the cop in the room bawling at his brother, trying to rouse him.

"Hey – leave him alone!" Joe shouted towards Frank's room and turned back to 'Sandy Hair'. "He's not unconscious…at least not the way you think…he took a sedative and he's asleep – go into the first bedroom and you'll find a bottle of pills on the table." Joe heard the officer to his right starting to make a call into his two-way radio so he switched his attention to him next. "Buddy, there's no need, you're gonna look stupid if you get paramedics to come out here. Frank's not hurt, he's asleep!"

The policeman's attention flickered to 'Sandy Hair', but he motioned for him to continue so he stepped away and carried on talking into the walkie-talkie.

"This is nuts!" Joe exploded. "What do you think I've done to him?"

'Sandy Hair' grabbed him by the shirtfront and shoved him backwards so the back of his legs connected with the sofa and he automatically sat down.

"Don't move," he commanded and went into Joe's bedroom, coming out seconds later with the little bottle in his hand, reading the label. "So to verify, you're telling me that Frank took one of these pills?"

"No, two."

"So Frank took two of these pills?"

"Yeah."

"Frank did…?"

"Yes!"

'Sandy Hair' looked thoughtful. "You may wish to consider your next answer very carefully, Mr Hardy." He turned the bottle's label for Joe too look at. "This is your name on the bottle, not Frank's. Why would he be taking your prescription medication?"

Joe grimaced. He knew this was going to sound lame. "Uh. Actually, it was me that gave him the tablets."

"And he knew you were giving them to him?"

"Where are you goin' with this?"

"We're old fashioned in these parts. The tradition is that we ask the questions and you answer them. Did he know that he was being given these tablets?"

Joe sighed. "Whatever I say it's goin' to sound bad."

"Try me."

"No, he didn't, but I have a good reason as to why."

'Sandy Hair' made a rolling motion with is hand for Joe to continue.

"Okay. My brother hasn't been feeling well – I wasn't lying about that, he really hasn't – and he hasn't been sleeping either. Earlier on today he fell off his motorcycle and nearly got mowed down by a truck. So I slipped a couple of 'em into his drink to make sure he'd get a good night's rest."

"So there wasn't any strangling involved?"

Joe sat up straighter, his mouth dropping open. "What?" He leaned forward, not sure he'd heard right. "Did you just say…strangling?"

"Yes, strangling."

Joe burst into laughter. "Are you serious? Where did that come from?"

It was 'Sandy's' turn to sigh. "We received a 911 call from some hikers who witnessed you attacking a male. You were seen to chase down, overpower, beat and strangle him into unconsciousness. Then you started to strip him of his clothes—"

"—Only so I could put him in bed - Jeeze!" Joe's face went beet red. Despite efforts to the contrary, he could feel his annoyance boiling up and his sarcasm chip switch into hyper-drive. "What are you tryin' to say, Pal? That I was tryin' to get my own brother naked? He's a real hottie, I'll grant you that, but he's hardly my type. I don't like his choice in aftershave and I prefer blondes. And I didn't 'beat' him, I moved his hands away a couple of times to stop him from clocking me. And as for strangling him—." Joe took a calming deep breath. _C'mon Joseph, cool down, you're not helping – be logical._

Shouting and getting hot, he knew, wasn't going to help. 'Sandy's' silence was telling; he'd been hoping that Joe would get more and more angry and say something he could hang himself with. It was an old trick, and one that Joe Hardy wasn't going to fall for.

So Joe shut his mouth, listened to his own internal command and instead looked at the area of the floor where he and Frank had been wrestling. He allowed his eyes to pan across to the open front door and off into the distance. He thought he saw a movement in the darkness. "Is there someone out there?"

"Yes, Mr Hardy."

"And they saw me and Frank, obviously."

'Sandy Hair' dropped his chin.

Joe closed his eyes, trying to push down the panic that was swelling in size as well as his hot anger and indignation. "Look…I know what it must have looked like from a distance, but I wasn't strangling my brother. I was stopping him from hurting himself while the sedative took effect. If anything, he was the aggressor. If you knew my brother, you'd know I couldn't possibly strangle him. He has a black belt in martial arts."

"You could easily have strangled him after slipping him a—" 'Sandy Hair' consulted the label again, "—muscle relaxant. And I've used these and they're powerful."

"Yeah, I know they are, that's why I used 'em. Go and have a look at Frank's neck, you won't find any evidence of strangulation, or bruising anywhere else…and check out the fact he's still in jeans and a t-shirt while you're at it. If I was gonna kill him, why would I put him to bed and make him comfortable first? I got no reason to strangle my own brother."


	19. Chapter 19

**Boosting - Chapter 19**

Joe couldn't tell if the police were buying his story as to why Frank was unconscious, although 'Sandy Hair' was rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Eventually, he stepped forward, pulled Joe up by the elbow and took him into Frank's room, accompanied by one of the other officers. The remaining man, who'd called for an ambulance to be dispatched, had gone outside.

Joe was pushed down into a wicker chair in the corner of the room. He found that the cop who'd entered Frank's bedroom and had initially discovered his brother was now perched quietly on the side of the bed having abandoned trying to rouse him.

'Sandy Hair' left Joe and went across to Frank and bent closely to search for signs of strangulation. He gently took Frank's jaw and rocked his head to one side and then flicked his head the other way and ran a hand around his throat. "What are these marks on his face?"

Joe decided to be vague. "An old injury that's still healing."

"Did you cause them?"

"No – I told you, they're old injuries! Can't you tell the difference?"

'Sandy Hair' nodded and lifted the blankets just enough to confirm that Frank was still dressed. Obviously satisfied that Frank wasn't hurt in the way described to him by the hikers, 'Sandy' moved to the end of the bed and leaned up against the footboard and looked back at Joe, suspicion still playing on his features. "How do I know you haven't overdosed him?"

"Count out the tablets. It's marked on the label that there were twenty. I had two of them a couple of days ago and Frank had two, so that means there'll be sixteen left."

'Sandy Hair' held the bottle up to the one of the other officers. "Do it."

The cop exited the room leaving them sitting in silence watching one another. Joe could tell that 'Sandy' was fighting an internal struggle. Joe's story certainly seemed to stand up, all the evidence supporting the scenario he was presenting, rather than the witnesses'.

Presently, the officer returned and passed the vial back, nodding. "Sixteen."

"See." Joe muttered.

"How do I know you didn't give him the entire four? I know the strength of these, four could knock out a small horse, so I hate to think what they'd do to a man."

"I took the other two a couple of days ago," Joe repeated.

"Prove it—"

"I though the weight was on you to prove I didn't!" Joe shot back.

'Sandy' peaked a brow. "You're not helping yourself."

Joe groaned and slumped back in the chair. "Look, dude, what can I say? Whatever explanation I come up with, you…I know…I'll show you exactly why I need those tablets—" He stood up suddenly and the hovering officer moved at speed towards him, pulling forth his nightstick at the same time. Joe took an urgent step away. "Hey – be cool! What do you think I'm gonna do? I'm cuffed remember. Pull up my shirt and you'll see why I need that medication."

The officer lowered the nightstick, looking to his senior officer for guidance. 'Sandy' nodded, and the cop eased up Joe's shirt. All three men in the room gazed at the still fresh and angry scaring on his belly. One of them even cringed sympathetically as Joe turned and showed them his back.

"A bullet?" 'Sandy' asked.

"Yeah. Frank and me got involved in something and I got gifted with this. That's why I need the tablets occasionally.

"You realise it's illegal to slip someone a prescription drug without their consent?"

"Dude, it was a toss up between that, or allowing my brother to take control of that bike out there and killing himself or someone else. I took a measured risk. What else was I supposed to do? My brother is the most stubborn guy you'll ever meet. If he decides he's not goin' to do something, he won't, including sleeping. Like I said, the dude's a black belt, he's mentally exhausted, and he's not thinking straight. What other choice did I have?"

Silence.

"Take a look at my shoulder. Go on, the left one."

'Sandy' approached this time, undid the top couple of buttons and pulled it across. There was an expansive bruise forming where Joe had hit the corner of the bedside cabinet, the area a vivid, scorched red.

"Frank did that, and that was after he couldn't stand up properly. So do you see what I'm up against? And if you still don't believe me about my brother goin' over on his bike, check out the red one outside. You'll find a toolkit next to it. Frank was doing a patch up job because he damaged it."

"If you don't mind me saying so, it sounds like your brother is out of control. Does he often lay his hands on you and cause those kind of injuries?"

"No! Frank never lays his hands on me, ever!" Joe considered that the officer's remarks were extremely wide of the mark, on all counts. "As I keep saying, he's not well – and I DID drug him, remember? No one would take that calmly. Actually, he isn't out of control, he's very in control…very in control—" his speech wound down, something had clicked in his mind.

'Sandy' raised a surprised eyebrow. "You said earlier that you got 'involved' with something and that's what caused that scarring? What sort of thing? The vast majority of people who get shot are usually 'bad' people."

"It was a government case."

'Sandy' started to laugh. "A government case? Come, Mr Hardy; let's be serious here. Anyone would think—" but the mirthless grin dropped and turned into a frown. He looked sharply at Joe's licence again. "Joseph Hardy?…Joe Hardy, and—" He took another look back at the sleeping brother. "—Frank Hardy? Frank and Joe Hardy?…Oh for the love of…are you related to—?"

Joe grinned and closed his eyes in relief, finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. "Yeah, Fenton Hardy is our dad. Call Collig, he'll vouch for me."

"Collig?"

The officer standing to Joe's right interrupted. "Chief of Police Ezra Collig?" he asked. "Of the Bayport Police Department?"

Joe nodded.

The officer made a surprised noise, impressed eyes flicking to 'Sandy Hair'. He re-holstered his nightstick and moved away.

"Take a seat, Joe." 'Sandy' said again, but this time it was a request and not an order. He left the room.

Joe settled down as two paramedics entered and went straight to examine his brother. They'd obviously encountered 'Sandy Hair' on the way through because they had the small pill bottle and one of them was reading the label.

Smirking, Joe considered how embarrassed Frank would be if he knew what was going on. Frank hated people fussing, and you couldn't get much more attention than this. One started attaching a blood pressure cuff to his arm while the other shone a light into his eyes before pulling up his t-shirt to listen intently to his heart through a stethoscope.

"Blood pressure's a little elevated, but not seriously."

"Heart beats up as well, but—"

They looked at each other and shrugged. "Sedated. Pretty comatose though."

"That's what I've been telling 'em," Joe piped up.

They ignored him, one of them turning to the cop in attendance as his colleague pulled down Frank's shirt and crossed his arms over his stomach. "I'm not sure it's worth taking him in as he'll sleep it off, but we'll take your lead. Do you want us to take him and run some further tests?"

'Sandy' walked in again. "Sorry boys, you've had a wasted journey, his story checks out." He turned to Joe, pulled him up and started removing the cuffs. "Why didn't you say you were both working with the FBI? Would have saved a lot of time."

Joe froze. _"Huh? What's Collig been saying?"_

"Erm…I didn't think it was important?" Joe responded. He couldn't help the inflection of his voice lifting it into a question, but 'Sandy Hair' didn't notice.

The paramedics packed up and left, and when Joe's hands came free, he immediately went to his brother to check him over himself. Frank didn't look as though he'd been in the slightest way disturbed by their mini adventure. Joe motioned for the policemen to leave and re-covered his brother properly with the sheet and blankets and left the room.

In the seating area, Joe found all the officers had gone, other than 'Sandy' who was loitering at the table where he'd laid down the pills and driver's licence.

"I assume you won't be trying to help your brother along by slipping him tablets again?" he asked, this time with a twinkle in his eye.

"Unlikely. The Frankster will never fall for that again. I know this wasn't pleasant, but I appreciate that you guys came out here. I know those eye witnesses will probably think they were interfering, but I'd rather they called these things in than not get involved."

'Sandy Hair' stuck his hand out. "I'm Officer Sandy Innis, by the way."

Joe's mouth dropped open and he grinned. "Hi Sandy." He took his hand, leading him towards the door. "If you don't mind, I'm tired and I'd like to finish up fixin' Frank's bike and then turn in."

"Of course. Goodnight Mr Hardy."

"Goodnight," Joe said and shut the door.

Shaking his head in amazement at the name coincidence, Joe went back into Frank's room. His protection instincts were in overdrive and he didn't want to leave Frank alone in his vulnerable state. He hadn't liked a bunch of strangers pulling and prodding at his brother, no matter how well intentioned, and he knew Frank would have hated it. The whole incident had badly shaken him.

He stood at the side of the bed and stared down at his brother's outwardly calm face, wondering what he was thinking and whether he'd been even the tiniest bit aware of what had happened. A sudden feeling of utter fatigue washed over him and he slumped down onto the bed and laid his hand on Frank's shoulder. He couldn't believe how close he'd come to causing his brother to be carted away again. How would Frank have reacted if he'd woken up in another clinical, white room? _"Probably would have majorly flipped out."_

Joe thought about Collig and what on earth he'd meant by the FBI comment. Whatever it was, it had gotten him and Frank out of a shaky situation. He made a mental note to ask him about it when they returned to Bayport – he at least owed The Chief a huge debt of gratitude.

"Holy cow, Frank!" Joe said, even though he knew he was talking to himself. "I nearly got arrested for your attempted murder! Now do you see the effect you're having on everyone? You gotta get this thing beat. It's getting out of hand, dude – way out of hand!"

*****

Nancy climbed to her feet, hearing Con calling her name out urgently for the third time through the skylight from where he'd just dropped her through. She took her flashlight, placed it under her chin, and switched it on. "Boo!" She giggled.

"Don't ever do that again!" Con near enough shouted. "You petrified the living be-Jesus out of me."

"Sorry Con. I told you I'd be okay – you need to have more faith. Like I said, I know my limitations and strengths. Wait there, I won't be long."

She entered the back office and swung her flashlight around until she found the retractable ladder, leaning up against the four-drawer filing cabinet. Lifting it, she returned to the skylight and started opening it until the top rung was high enough to brace against the edge of the opening, Con helping to direct it the rest of the way. She then steadied the ladder as Con made his way down.

As soon as he hit ground zero, Con turned angry hazel eyes on her. "That's the last time you to talk me into letting you do something so crazy! If you were one of my cops, I'd be bouncing you out of here! Badly done, Drew, badly done. A partnership is about trust and give-n-take, and you're doing nothing in those areas. And it would serve you well to remember that's a good rule to follow in any relationship, not only working ones."

Nancy's face flushed as she finally appreciated the very real scare she'd dolled out to him. "I'm sorry Con, I guess I got carried away. I'm not used to working with other people."

"Well get used to it quick-smart, girl, because I sure don't have time to train you up. From now on, no more action-hero crap, agreed?"

Nancy pursed her lips and folded her arms, but she did stiffly nod her acceptance.

"Good. I don't want to be scraping you up off the floor any time soon – what were you thinking?"

"About that," Nancy admitted, pointing at the convertible that was silhouetted against the shutters that were down on all sides of the glass-sided building. It was still atop the low podium, although not now revolving. "And about Frank. He's down enough on life already, without losing that car as well. I know it sounds stupid, but—" she gave a shrug, unsure as to what else to say.

"Oh."

Con was silent for so long that Nancy eventually looked up to try and work out what he was thinking. He was surveying her, but his face had softened. His hand came out and rested gently onto her shoulder.

"C'mon, let's rescue his car and get out of here."

Nancy opened her backpack and pulled out two licence plates. She'd noticed at the show room earlier that Frank's plates had been replaced and she needed to restore the originals so if they got pulled over, everything would be legitimate. "Can you can take off the false plates and switch them back?"

"Sure. Give me your tool set and I'll get started while you work out how to lower the podium and get those back doors open." Con's voice was much gentler and Nancy wondered if he was feeling bad for having shouted at her, not that she hadn't deserved it.

"Thanks. You're brilliant, Con." Nancy said, handing over the ratchet set from her belt and squeezing his hand for a second. "If you wait, I'll turn the lights on low so you can see what you're doing. The shutters should block out the light, so we don't have to worry too much." She left and returned to the back office to turn up the dimmer switch.

Con was watching her through the glass and when it reached the right ambience, he gave an 'ok' sign and headed for the rear of the car.

Nancy went to a key cabinet that was attached to the wall and pulled her lock picking set from her pocket. She unfolded it and selected the most likely tools for the job and set about working on the lock. It was a simple mechanism and she had it opened in about thirty seconds flat.

Swinging the lid open, she shook her head in disbelief as to how easy it would be to steal every car on the lot. Sets of keys for each vehicle were hanging there with a hand written label attached with the cars' license numbers. "Fool!" she muttered about Martin and worked her way through the tags to find the convertible's keys. Finally identifying it, she shoved it into her pocket, and returned to Con.

The ex-lieutenant was crouched at the rear of the car, having already replaced the front plate, the old one lying abandoned on the shiny floor.

"Watch your fingers, Con, I'm going to lower the podium."

"I'm nearly done here, anyway, so lower away." Con replied, not looking up, concentrating hard on the job at hand.

Nancy returned to the office and went to a panel of switches on the other side from the doorway. Having made a point of watching Martin earlier when she'd asked him to stop the podium, so she'd already clocked where the control panel was. She depressed the one marked 'lower stage'.

There was a soft whirring noise and she looked through the glass to watch Con stepping back as the podium descended. As it reached ground level, he opened the passenger door and threw in the now redundant license plates and then turned to beckon for Nancy to come through to him.

"Did you find the car keys?" he asked, once she'd joined him.

Nancy pulled them from her pocket. "Here you go." She tossed them in his direction and he caught them to his chest and travelled around the car to get into the driver's seat.

Gunning the engine, Con cranked the convertible into gear, backed it up, and then drove it towards the rear of the show room to the still closed double doors. He didn't turn off the engine, allowing it to rumble gently as Nancy went to the door and hit the large red knob. The large arrow next to it denoted that it would open the doors and after a heart-stopping, ear-splitting grinding noise, the metal shutter rolled up and the doors whooshed aside. As soon as they'd opened enough, Con drove the car out and into the fresh air.

Nancy's face split into a huge smile as he drove the convertible a distance away from the building and parked it up next to his own car. He climbed out and jogged back.

"What now?" Con asked once she was within hearing distance.

"We're going to put everything back as it was, other than the car and keys. It'll look as if the car wasn't here at all, and if Martin phones the police, it'll look odd to them too and will cause them to start asking awkward questions."

Con looked over Nancy's head, thoughtfully. "I'm willing to bet Martin won't call the boys in."

"Exactly! And as we visited earlier, it's hardly surprising our fingerprints are everywhere, so we're in the clear. I'll rub mine off the key cabinet, control panel and the other suspicious areas. Can you fold up the ladder again?"

Con went away and returned a short while later with it in his hands. Nancy put it in exactly the same place she'd found it and gave it a brisk rub down with an old cloth she'd bought with her. She quickly did the same with the control panel, raised the podium and then locked up the key cabinet. They both took a quick walk around and did a visual scan to confirm they'd left nothing behind before killing the lights and reconvening at the still open back doors.

"Let's vamoose!" Con said and indicated for her to leave. He pressed the button and ducked out himself before the doors and shutters closed fully.

Once they were shut, Nancy said, "I need you to lift me again so I can fix the alarm."

It took her a couple of minutes of fiddling, but the wire was eventually reconnected and the red light came on again to denote that it was rearmed. She reattached the cover and then Con lifted her back to ground level.

"Get the car out of here," he said. "I left the key in the ignition."

"No – you're forgetting that we still have to shut the skylight."

"I'll do that, just go."

"But—" she opened her mouth to argue, not wanting Con to do something that made him uncomfortable, but his determined face changed her mind. It was obviously an order, not a request. So she turned and started away, leaving him behind.

Nancy ran up to the car and gave it a firm pat on the behind as she headed for the driver's door. She couldn't help but feel a swell of satisfaction as she slid into the front seat and turned the engine over, running her fingers over the leather-covered, racing steering wheel. The tiniest fear that this wasn't Frank's car fled as soon as she was sat inside – it felt right; it felt like her boyfriend's aura, his spirit, was in that convertible with her. It vibrated with his presence, she could even smell him – this WAS his car.

She adjusted the seat and twisted to look back at Con, who was disappearing over the parapet of the roof, having made a much more controlled job of climbing this time.

Turning back, she drove away at speed, initially hugging the back streets behind the industrial and office buildings until she had no choice but to emerge on to the main highway. There, she cut her speed so as not to attract attention to herself and drove across Bayport towards the corner of Elm and High Streets. As soon as she was driving up to the Hardys house, she leaned on the horn and the garage doors were raised. Laura and Vanessa were there, smiling and waving.

Nancy shot straight into the garage, jammed on the brakes, and Laura lowered the garage doors again.

Climbing from the car, Nancy immediately walked into a tight hug administered by Laura Hardy. "Nancy, you are a wonder! What would my oldest do without you?" she asked, those bright, sapphire blue eyes, so similar to Joe's, flashing at her and turning up at the corners.

Nancy smiled and returned the embrace. "I'm sure he'd do just fine," she said modestly and turned to high five with Vanessa. "Thank you for earlier you two, you were great! You should have seen Martin's face when you walked in to save Vanessa, he was so disappointed! He thought all his Christmases had come at once when he got a look at Van in that dress – and poor Con's jaw nearly hit the floor!"

"Speaking of Con, where is he?" Vanessa asked.

"I left him finishing up. He'll be here soon," Nancy answered. "At least I hope so, if he hasn't fallen off the roof and broken his neck!"

But then there was a firm tap on the garage door and Laura raised it enough for Con to duck underneath. "Have you got the coffee on, Laura? I need one and I need one now…a strong one preferably." He tipped a thumb in Nancy's direction. "She's scary and bossy, and she made me climb!"


	20. Chapter 20

Thank you everyone for the sudden influx of lovely feedback! :-D

You'll all be glad to know that things REALLY hot up from here on in. Enjoy the non-stop action!

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Boosting - Chapter 20

It hadn't taken much for Joe to realise that Frank was not happy the next morning. For half an hour he'd been listening to the sounds of his brother storming about his room, so when Frank finally yanked his bedroom door open, it came as no surprise to have him glaring murderously in his direction. However, no matter how long Joe had been able to ready himself for facing his brother's wrath, he'd still hugely underestimated the tangible anger that was leaking out of the usually laid-back Frank once they'd come face-to-face.

Hoping to dilute some of the atmosphere, Joe raised himself from the sofa with a grin. "You'll never guess what happened last night after—" he started, but faltered at the look on his brother's face.

Frank stopped short and with a lip twitch began circling the room, lifting things up, flinging and pushing things aside, checking and rechecking his pockets – obviously searching for something, becoming more and more aggravated. As he reached the front windows, he paused and looked out at his bike thoughtfully. Turning on Joe, he asked forcefully: "Where's my keys?"

"Why?"

"I just realised you must have them. Give them to me; I need to get out of here. You've single handedly turned me into even more of a nut-job than I am already and I need to put some distance between us. Where are they?"

"Frank, I think—"

"—I don't freakin' care what you think. I thought I could trust you, but I was wrong so you've lost that privilege." He put his hand out. "The keys…now!"

The keys were in Joe's room, in his jacket pocket, but he didn't want to return them, he wanted to calm Frank down a little first. "I'll give them to you in a bit, but right now—"

"—Whatever." Frank turned and instead snatched up Joe's keys from the table. Joe took half a step towards him with the intention of taking them back, but Frank swung round with a wordless, cold, challenging stare.

Recognising the signs of someone close to losing it completely, Joe knew he had no other choice than to let him go and took that half a step back again. There was no way he was going to get into any sort of a physical altercation.

Frank returned to his bedroom to get his saddlebags and then headed for the front door. Pushing it open with his shoulder, he started making his way down the front steps and to the black motorcycle. As he crossed the initial porch area, however, his foot came into sharp contact with the discarded beer bottle from the night before and sent it clattering down the steps. It hit the ground and rolled to a stop by the bike's rear wheel.

Joe was following closely at Frank's heels and, with a grimace, witnessed the bottle's journey.

Frank limped down the steps to reach Joe's bike and stood looking down at the bottle until finally putting his toe to it and, with a strangled cry, kicked it hard, spinning it away until it hit the more rocky area of the shoreline. A smashing noise announced its demise and immediately, Frank was loading up his saddlebags.

"Where are you goin'?" Joe asked, stepping up to his shoulder.

Frank didn't answer. He continued to clip his bags in place, mounted the bike and prepared to leave by inserting the key and making a move to kick the stand up.

"Frank—" Joe said and caught hold of his arm before he could put his helmet on.

Frank recoiled so violently that the bike began to topple and Joe had to grasp even firmer to steady his brother and stop him from going over, pulling until the bike settled down on its stand again. "You okay?"

"Let go," Frank growled. "Or I'll snap your arm in two!" Joe didn't, frozen in shock, so Frank dropped his helmet on the ground, rose from the bike and fronted up to him, putting that extra inch of height to good use, eyes blazing.

It was Joe's turn to balk. He raised his hand away, palm out in a gesture of compliance and placation, hoping that Frank was making an empty threat - however he meant it, it was certainly having quite an effect. His brother had never spoken to him like that, and he didn't think he'd ever experienced Frank so furious with him. "The only reason I gave you those pills was because you weren't getting any rest, and I just thought—" and then unconsciously was laying the hand back on his brother's arm.

Frank tensed. "—There you go again, 'just thinking'. That's the whole problem, Joe, you're always 'just thinking'. Who are you to decide what's best for me? You've been hassling me to talk to you for weeks, but the second I did you wouldn't listen."

Joe shook his head, perplexed as to the point Frank was making.

Frank pointed a stabbing finger towards the cabin. "I wasn't tryin' to reverse what you did last night out of stubbornness, and I wasn't saying the things I was saying for effect – I was begging you, Joe, begging you not to make me go under. Do you know how humiliating that was? Didn't you even hear me?"

"Of course I did, dude, but you needed to sleep!"

Frank laughed hollowly, the smile devoid of humour, sunlight glinting off gathering telltale moisture gathering at the corner of his eye. His gaze slid away and he swiped at his face. "You really don't get it, do you, bro?"

"Get what?"

His eyes returned. "Yeah, Joe – I had a great night's sleep, thanks, very restful. You can't imagine how much fun it was being trapped in my own private hell." He tipped his head to one side, continuing to pin his brother with his glare. "Tell me Joe, have you ever had the pleasure of being tortured in the most grisly and painful of ways you can ever imagine, and then been forced to watch everyone you love being slaughtered? Only to have it happen again, over-and-over? And imagine that your usual escape route – which is simply to wake up – has been sealed off…and by who? By your own brother who decides you need to sleep and so drugs the livin' crap out of you! And so you're hollerin' and hollerin' for someone to come and shake you awake, but you can't move and no one comes and you're…trapped…is that something you've ever had the pleasure of?—"

Silence.

"—No? Well, that's what you sentenced me to last night, bro. So thanks, I had a great night's rest, a long and horribly uninterrupted one! Now get the hell out of my way, or I swear to God, I will break your arm!"

Joe dropped his grip, dumb struck and horrified as to the consequences of his own actions.

Frank's outpouring hadn't anaesthetized the anger and hurt as he dipped to retrieve his helmet from the ground, donned it, remounted the bike and successfully kicked up the stand. Turning the key, he pulled the throttle back so aggressively that he instantly killed the engine. He cursed, grunted with aggravation and pounded the handlebars. Eventually, with a bang to the helmet, he got himself under control again. The engine roared into life and he left.

Joe stayed where he was, rooted to the spot and listening to the gradually distancing changing pitch of his brother's foot working its way through the gears as he accelerated away. Eventually he couldn't be heard at all, silence Joe's only companion. He returned to his spot on the porch steps and slumped down to stare desolately out across the lake, feelings of culpability searing a red-hot poker through his heart.

Eventually, he did the only thing he could do; he fished cell phone from his pocket and after the second attempt, selected Vanessa's number and hit green. She answered after only one ring.

"_Hi Joe."_

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out and he had to stop trying for a while, his voice totally ensnared in his throat. He kneaded his forehead, and gritted his teeth, fighting back unsettling emotions that were threatening to spill over. His breath was coming in painful, short ragged bursts, which Vanessa must have been able to hear.

"_What's wrong?…Joe?"_

Joe inhaled noisily and willed himself to speak, having to make a concerted effort to keep his voice on an even keel. "Van, I did something dumb, something unforgivable – and I did it to Frank. I've made the biggest mistake of my life, and I don't know what to do about it. Help me. I think I've really damaged him."

"_Oh baby! Don't panic, tell me what happened."_

There came another deep tattered breath before Joe started talking.

*****

Nancy and Con had only been in the office for a little while when the 'hot phone' began to ring. Con looked up from the list of cars he was studying and locked eyes with his temporary partner.

"Well—" Nancy said, grabbing her bag from beneath the table and rummaging for the phone. "—This can only be about Frank's car, or, the Ford Fairlane."

"Either way, it's my turn to answer it," Con said and raised his palm. "Gimme!"

Nancy threw the handset and Con snatched it out of the air and pressed the green button. "Hello, John speaking."

"_Hi John, it's Martin—"_

"Martin?" Con asked, acting mystified.

"—_Jackson…From the car dealership. You came out yesterday to view a Corvette with your daughter?"_

"Oh yes! Sorry Martin, head like a sieve. Lucy is still interested in the car, would like to book a test drive if that's possible."

Nancy's eyes widened, her mouth forming a silent incredulous 'O', she obviously thought he was pushing his luck.

Martin was silent for a few seconds and came back with: _"Erm, actually, we sold it. We knew it wouldn't be out on the lot for a long time, and someone snapped it up yesterday. We've got a couple of other nice rides she might be interested in if she'd like to come-on by again."_

"Oh, that's a shame," Con said and held his thumb aloft to Nancy who clapped her hands quietly. Obviously Martin hadn't reported the theft to the police, confirming that he must be up to is neck in it. "I'll let her know, she might well take you up on your offer and drop over for another look."

Nancy made a thumbs-down sign this time and stuck her tongue out.

"_Yes, please do John. I wasn't phoning about the Corvette though, it was about your search for a Ford Fairlane."_

"Have you found one?" Con asked, sounding both surprised and enthusiastic.

"_I have. I phoned a few contacts and we found a very nice one. A friend of a friend is selling it. He's owned it for some time, but now he's wanting to sell it on so he can start a new project."_

"Is it a blue one?"

"_Two-tone blue and white to be exact."_

"And it's completely original?"

"_Completely – well, when I say 'completely', it's got a modern CD/radio, but it's got this cover that you put over the front to make it like the original. But you need a sound system to attract the right kind of ladies. Like that blonde who came into the showroom. Boy, was she HOT! My blood pressure has been up ever since!"_

Con had to jam his lips together to stop himself from laughing and give a few seconds to collect himself.

"_John?"_

"Yes, I'm still here, just excited."

"_You and me both, she was a knockout."_

Con cringed, mortified. "No! I didn't mean I was excited about—" he sighed and collected himself again. "—Never mind, yes, the car sounds like what I'm after. Is it at your showroom?"

"_No, but I can give you a phone number and you can arrange to go and see it directly."_

"That's sounds acceptable, can you give me his details?"

Martin gave Con the contact information, thanked him and rang off. Con disconnected the call at his end. "That man is a cad through and through!"

"A cad?" Nancy asked.

"Yeah, you know, a 'lounge lizard'!"

"A lounge liz…were you born in the 1920's Con?"

"I can't say what I really think because there's a lady in the room."

Nancy laughed. "You WERE born in the 1920's! What did Martin say?"

Con made his way to the kitchenette to switch the kettle on and outlined what Martin had said. He left out the part about Vanessa.

"Looks like another undercover operation," Nancy said, pulling two cups down from their hooks and setting them on the table before reaching for the coffee.

Con leaned against the counter. "Yep. Wanna take some more photographs, but from a distance this time?"

"The camera is all charged up and ready to go."

The phone on Fenton's desk started to ring.

"It's like Grand Central Station this morning!" Con said and walked through into the second office to snatch up the receiver. "Hardy, Riley & Sons."

"_Hi Con, can you put Nancy on please?"_

"Hi Vanessa. Yes, Nancy's here…is everything okay?" he asked, sensing an air about her that he couldn't put his finger on, she was anxious…apprehensive? No, it was more than that.

"_Can you put Nancy on?"_ Vanessa repeated.

"Yeah, sure." He took the few steps through to find Nancy was heading in his direction having overheard, already with her hand out. Con put his fingers over the mouthpiece "It's Vanessa, she sounds…odd."

"Thanks." Nancy took it from him and pushed it to her ear. "Hi Van…slow down…no, slow right down, I can't understand you, you're babbling…what about Joe?"

Con watched Nancy as she started to make sense of what Vanessa had to say. She was completely silent and still, not even nodding with understanding. Then all at once she started pacing and put a hand to her forehead, any contact she had with Con severed, he might as well have not been in the room at all.

"Jesus Van! What the hell was he thinking?…No, sorry I didn't mean that, he only did what he thought was right…yeah, I agree, totally unforeseen…I know, I know, I understand…Oh God!"

Then Con knew something was very wrong because she veered straight across the room and hunkered down into Frank's chair, the first person to have done so since he'd left the office that final time.

"Wait, Van," Nancy said next. She dropped the phone onto the desk, put her hands over her eyes and made a groaning noise.

"What's up, Girl?" Con asked.

Nancy didn't answer, but did come out from behind her hands and look back at him. She was pale and her eyes were watering. She looked helpless, vulnerable, unlike her usual strong self.

"Drew?" he asked again, even more concerned and went to pick the phone up, but Nancy beat him to it, snatching it.

"Van—" she said again. "I'm so busted, so so busted. This'll be the end to me and Frank." She stood and started pacing again.

"_What the hell's happened?" _Con wondered for the millionth time.

"No, I do think so Van, this is the end of the road. Frank's probably on his way back and when he finds out I didn't go to River Heights after all, that'll be it…no, you don't get it Van, there's a thin line between interference, concern and downright betrayal and Joe and me have stepped well over that line and into deceit, at least in Frank's mind. And we were the ones he trusted the most!" She was starting to shake, the hand holding the phone turning bone white. "What am I going to do? What's Frank going to do?"

Con didn't like where this conversation was heading, or his friend's demeanour, so he took the decision to step into the breach. He stalked up to Nancy and yanked the phone from her fingers wrapping his free arm around her at the same time and drawing her close. "She'll call you back, Vanessa," he barked.

"_But_—"

"No, I said she'll call you back when she's calmed down. Give us five minutes, Van, okay?"

"_Okay."_

He cut the call and turned his attention back to Nancy. "What's goin' down, Nancy?"

"Me, by the sounds of it!" Nancy said; her voice muffled by his bicep where her face was buried. She was crying, he could feel tears drenching his shirt.

"Hey, c'mon, girl!" Con said. He was so crap in these situations: women were such a mystery! _"Why do they always leak, even the tough ones like Nancy?" _He placed the receiver down on the counter next to the kettle and put both arms around her, trying so hard to be warm, protective and fatherly and wishing for the umpteenth time that he was better at this as his palm patted away. More than anything, he wished he was Fenton Hardy.

He must have been doing something right though, because her arms were suddenly encircling his middle and holding on.

Nancy sobbed for a while longer, making his shirt even wetter. Not that Con minded; he was more concerned about her than his cheap top. Eventually he manoeuvred her towards Fenton's chair, sat her down and dipped down in front. "Speak to me, Drew," he implored, passing her his handkerchief.

She gulped a couple of times and wiped her eyes, trying hard to get a grip on her emotions, eventually able to talk. "Joe did something to Frank which has blown everything out of the water. He didn't mean it to turn out as disastrous, but the damage is done and I don't know if it's reversible. Once Frank finds out I'm here…well—" she almost started crying again. "Sorry."

"You don't need to apologise to me. God Nancy, you've been bearing the weight of all this with Frank for weeks, and from what I can gather, almost single handedly. I'm surprised you haven't cracked yourself. A few tears are nothing to be ashamed of."

"Yeah, but look at the mess I've made of things so far."

"You haven't made a mess of anything! All you've done for Frank is what you thought was right and he hasn't helped, has he? If he dumps you over this, then he's the biggest fool I ever met, and I'll take you out instead."

That made Nancy laugh. "You'd be my sugar daddy—"

"—And what an interesting family dynamic that would make upon you introducing me to your dad!" Con laughed at himself and put his hand on her elbow to give it a gentle squeeze. "I'm not goin' to ask what Joe did, but go home Drew, go back to Joe's boathouse and hide out. If Frank shows up here, I'll feign innocence. He doesn't need to know, at least not until you want to tell him yourself. Go back to the boathouse and keep your head down until the clouds have passed and then turn up at Frank's apartment like you've flown back from River Heights."

"I can't do that—"

"Why not?"

"Because I'm supposed to be supporting you—"

"You can get that idea out of your head. Some things are more important. I can do this alone."

Nancy wiped her eyes again. "I think Frank's the one…you know?"

"Yeah, I sorta figured that. Get goin', Drew." He stood and went to get her coat from its peg. "I'll phone Fenton to let him know what I'm doing and I'll have Collig give me some back up, he owes me a favor or three. Consider yourself on sick leave, starting right now." He twisted his features into a stern look; confident he was giving her one of those paternal stares that Fenton was so great at.

"Will you phone me and let me know how it went with the Ford Fairlane?"

"Of course I will. Now go."

Nancy jumped up and grabbed her purse before running towards Con to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, nearly bowling him over. "Thanks Con, you're a real friend!" she said. "I don't know why you haven't got a girlfriend!" Was her parting comment as the door shut after her.

"Who said I haven't got a girlfriend?" Con muttered aggrieved, hands wide. "Just cause I don't talk about my private life doesn't mean I don't have one...sheesh!"

Almost immediately, the phone rang again.

"Hi Vanessa."

"_Is she okay?"_ Vanessa asked, her voice tight.

"Vanessa, if you start blubbering as well, I'm hanging up and leaving the country!"

Despite the situation, Vanessa did giggle.

"Yeah, Nancy's okay and don't worry, she didn't let on what Joe did, but I know whatever it was, it with the best of intentions and with his heart in the right place. She's on her way over to the houseboat – is that where you are?"

"_Yeah."_

"Good. When she gets there, hide her. I'll put Frank off the scent if he appears."

"_Joe isn't certain Frank's even coming home. He took off, didn't say where he was heading." _

"Where's Joe?"

"_On his way back, trying to catch up to Frank."_

The phone on Con's desk started to ring. "There's the other phone now. It's crazy busy this morning!" He ended the call with Vanessa and picked up the next call. "Hello."

"_Is that Con Riley?" _asked a male voice.

"Yep, and you are?"

"_Carson Drew."_

Con didn't respond at first.

"_Hello?"_

"Yeah, hi Mr Drew. Are you after Nancy, only she's not here at the moment, she's…uh…gone home…uh…sick? You could probably get her on her cell."

"_What's wrong with her?"_

Silence.

"_It was you I wanted to speak to actually. Fenton met with an accident last night, and…I was hoping you could have a chat with him; he's not making a good patient. He's supposed to be on 24 hour bed rest, but he keeps trying to get up."_

Con pulled the receiver away and glared at it incredulously unable to get his brain around what was happening. He pushed it back to his ear. "What sort of accident?"

"_Uh – a blow to the head?"_

"A blow to the head!? How did that happen?"

Silence.

"Put Fenton on the line, Mr Drew."

He listened to the sound of Carson Drew presumably climbing some stairs. Then he heard a few footsteps and a door opening. From a distance he heard Carson's perturbed voice say. _"Fenton, get back into bed!"_

"_Carson, I—"_

"_Just get back in - honestly! There's someone who wants to speak to you."_

"_Who is it?_

"_You'll find out." _

The phone was passed across, and Fenton said, slowly and guardedly, "_Helloooo?"_

"Behave yourself, Flash. Do as Carson tells you or I'm telling Laura."

"_Con?"_ asked Fenton in astonishment, and then as an aside to Carson. _"Did you __snitch__ to my partner?"_

Con jumped in before Carson could answer him. "Yeah, he did, buddy. Did you hear what I said?"

"_But Con, I'm so close to finding Bobbie, I can feel it in my bones. I can't lie uselessly around while she's out there!"_

"You'll be feeling it in more than your bones if I tell Laura."

"_Okay, okay! __Man__, you don't have to get quite THAT heavy!"_

"What happened to you, anyway, buddy?"

"_Disagreement with a cooking utensil."_

"I had to ask, didn't I? Look, Fenton, sit tight for today, will ya? I'll probably be able to send Joe over to you tomorrow. He and Frank are due back in town."

"_Oh? How's Frank."_

"How should I know?" Con knew that wasn't entirely truthful, but really didn't know how Frank was. "All I know is that they're on their way back. Take it easy, Fen, yeah?"

"_All right."_

"And when you get back, I'm changing the job title on my business cards to Agony-Uncle-Con."


	21. Chapter 21

**Boosting - Chapter 21**

After ending his phone call with Vanessa, Joe got up off the step and went back into the cabin. He knew his next job was phoning Frank and wasn't looking forward to it. Fingering his cell phone for a little while longer, he found it took a real feat of self-control to select his brother's number and thumb the green button. He didn't think for an instant that Frank would pick up, but he intended on at least leaving a message.

The call connected at his end and it began to ring, and then weirdly, he could hear a distant echo. It took him a couple of seconds to realise that it was another cell entirely. With a sinking heart, Joe strode through into his brother's bedroom – the _Mission Impossible_ ring-tone confirmation enough that Frank had left his phone behind by mistake. After scuffling through the bedclothes, Joe eventually found the handset, which had become sandwiched between folds of bed linen

"Crap!"

This wasn't good news. Joe's powers of damage limitation were now severed. Frank still didn't know his convertible had been stolen, re-sprayed and then recovered by Nancy and Con. For all Joe knew, Frank was right this second driving for their parent's home where he'd find the car and start asking questions. Then he'd find out his mom and dad were in on it, and by association, Nancy too!

"Crap!"

As if the guilt of what he'd done wasn't burning enough, he now had to somehow protect his parents and Nancy without making Frank feel any more betrayed than he did already. Joe felt trapped and cornered; everything was crashing down around him, burying him in mental rubble.

"CRAP!"

He couldn't afford to lose any more time, he had to get back to Bayport as quickly as possible, preferably before his brother, hopefully even catch up and 'encourage' him to pull over.

Running through to his own room, he grabbed his essentials, shoving them into his pockets, intended on leaving everything else behind to come back for later. This wasn't anything unusual, he and his brother often found themselves having to leave stuff behind in an emergency. Then he quickly rang Vanessa again to let her know what he was planning, leaving the cabin at the same time and locking up.

Ending the call he took the front steps at a jump, and then took near enough one more single leap onto the bike seat, shoved his helmet on, and gunned the engine to life. The scarlet bike went off so quickly that the back wheel threw up a wall of dirt before sinking itself into the ground and refusing to budge. The tire was so firmly wedged that Joe had to kill the engine, stand up off the saddle and use brute force to rock the bike to-and-fro to work it loose. With a grunt and a considerable amount of muscle straining, he finally heaved it clear; intensely aware that the longer he took, the greater the head start Frank was gaining.

Being more careful, he made his way cautiously along the dirt path, picking around the various obstacles until he saw the exit leading onto the main road. Encouraged, Joe bore down on the throttle and put on a tremendous speed, shooting out of the exit and sliding into the road, forcing another motorist to slew his car out of the way. The driver slammed the heel of his hand down on the horn and yelled, but Joe simply straightened up and shot away at a crazy speed leaving the other vehicle in his wake.

Frank now had such a head start that Joe could only hope that his brother would have to stop for a comfort visit, or to consult a map. A few days ago, when they'd been in the diner, Frank had berated him because he hadn't been paying attention to the map, but that wasn't what had been going on, Joe knew where the cabin was, he didn't need to look at a map. It wasn't that he was distracted, as Frank had assumed, it was that he was disinterested.

Out of the brothers, Joe was able to negotiate his way on instinct alone. He had the ability to simply glance at a map and know where he was going and follow his nose. Frank, however, didn't have such a natural head for direction and had to route out his trips carefully or use GPS. So Joe was hoping that Frank would forget the way back at some point and would have to pull over for directions and allow Joe to make up some distance and time.

Joe had no intention of making any pit stops; he would have his foot to the floor the entire way back. By his calculation, he was about two hours away from the outskirts of Bayport. He had plenty of gas, the bike was running well, the traffic was light and he was Joe Hardy = Demon Racer!

*****

An hour later and Joe was turning north onto the freeway. He'd decided that the most direct course, and probably the one that Frank would take, would be to come off at Exit 27A which merged onto Colonel Thomas Highway and allow him to finally leave from Exit 2 and slip into Bayport.

He knew he would get snarled up in lunchtime traffic, but the benefit of being on a bike was that it could be ridden between the traffic and not get too fouled up with other vehicles. The only problem that he couldn't get around was that he was not the only speed demon in the family, Frank probably had an even greater hunger for producing g-forces and he was a damn fine rider.

Some time later, Joe was joining the line of traffic feeding onto the Colonel Thomas Highway. Three cars later and he was directing the bike down the ramp and was riding alongside the already fast moving traffic trying to slip in himself. For one hair-raising moment, he thought he wasn't going to be able to because a four-by-four next to him was going at the same speed and he was quickly running out of road! Joe made an arm gesture at the car's passenger who was watching him morosely through the window. Finally realising Joe's difficulty, he nudged the driver who braked slightly allowing the bike to nose into the traffic with only feet to spare. Joe opened up the throttle again, not giving the awkward off-road driver any further thought.

Joe wanted to be able to see far ahead of himself, but as predicted, the lunchtime traffic made visibility poor and he couldn't see any further than a few car lengths ahead. Half an hour later the rush was over and vehicles began thinning out allowing him to finally be able to see.

Every kept spotting dark motorbikes in the distance, but upon reaching them was disappointed each time to find none of them were Frank. This was despondent making times. He was spending far too much time passing each bike, and it was causing further delays that he could ill afford.

He consulted his speedometer. He knew he was going over the limit, but he was still going too slowly for his comfort level, he wasn't covering enough ground, he felt that with each passing minute his brother was slipping further away. He didn't want to get pulled over…but…_"Hang it all – c'mon Joseph!"_

Joe twisted the throttle forwards upping his speed still further, gambling on the possibility of being pulled over. As it turned out, it was a worthy wager as up ahead of him, he made out another black bike and this time, he could tell instantly that it was his brother. The driver wore the right clothes, the way he was perched in the saddle, his body low over the handlebars, his driving style, and his long lean athleticism…well…it was Frank, no doubt about it.

Taking a glance to his right, Joe considered the car next to him, which was also speeding. He decided to tuck himself away behind so hopefully Frank wouldn't spot him until they were practically side-to-side and then he would…actually, he wasn't sure what he would do once he'd caught up. Maybe he could annoy Frank so much that he would get tired of being trailed and would pull over for a confrontation when Joe could let Frank punch him and everything would sort itself out and they could go back to being brother's in arms again. _"Yeah right – fat chance!"_

Joe's plan of utilising the car as a barricade worked as Frank didn't spot him until he slipped into his field of vision alongside. Joe watched as Frank's head finally pivoted in his direction and then looked back away again to the road ahead. To his credit, Frank controlled his surprise enough that his bike didn't move off its trajectory by even an inch – a sure sign that Frank had been half expecting him to appear.

Joe raised a hopeful wave but received nothing in reply.

Frank's head switched from staring ahead to looking the other way, apparently to cold-shoulder his younger brother.

"_Dammit!" _An easy outcome wasn't going to be forthcoming for Joe …that was plain.

Joe knew that in three exit's time, Frank would be leaving the freeway in order to enter Bayport, so he decided to attempt circling around in front. As his brother was sticking doggedly to the speed limit, this was an easy manoeuvre – actually, too easy. Frank didn't flutter, slow down, speed up or move his head. In fact, he didn't react at all and it bothered Joe. Ever since Pandora, he couldn't read his brother and he had the uneasy feeling that Frank had made it easy for a reason. Given what had happened the previous night, there was little reason for Frank to be so accommodating.

Up ahead of them were two white trucks lumbering along side-by-side. They were plainly from the same company as they were presenting the same logo on their sides and Joe could see that the one driver had his window down and was gesticulating across at his friend in the other cab. _"Idiots!"_

The tarpaulin stretched across the trailers rippled, vibrated and caught the sunlight as the huge vehicles rode over imperfections in the asphalt. A catch had failed on the one truck that would usually have been used to hold down the cover and it was flipping about freely in the wind, its metal catch whipping murderously back and forth at head height. Joe had to keep a beady eye on it as his bike sailed between the high walls of mechanical machinery. He pointed at it, in the hope that Frank would heed his warning.

Joe emerged unscathed and lost his view­ of Frank as one truck filled his field of vision entirely. He waited a while for his brother to also materialise into the open air, but, for some reason, he didn't. Neither of the truck drivers looked to be reacting to anything unusual happening between their vehicles, just continuing with their childish hand signals and wild laughter.

Joe concluded that Frank must have dropped back as no biker would want to be sandwiched between trucks for any length of time; it was too claustrophobia inducing. Joe decided to do the same and slowed down to enable the vehicles to go ahead of him again. Sure enough, when he entered the cavity, Frank wasn't there. In fact, when Joe emerged completely out from behind, he found his brother wasn't there period!

"_What the hell?" _Twisting in his seat, Joe looked first one way, and then the other. _"For pity's sake, where the heck…__aw crap__!"_ He'd finally spotted Frank and knew what had happened. His brother had bided his time and waited for Joe to make a move, and had taken the opportunity to get off at the next exit unseen. He was now passing above his head on the overpass that spanned the highway. No wonder he'd let Joe pass so readily!

Joe needed to turn back, but of course this was impossible. The words he was using beneath his helmet were for his ears alone!

Although chagrined that Frank had outwitted him, Joe realised that he could turn this to his advantage. If he got off on Exit 2 as planned, he would reach Bayport first and he could head, literally, 'for the hills'. He knew of an excellent vantage point, which would allow him to look down on the town and its feeder roads. In its day, the local kids referred to it as 'lover's leap' and Joe knew of it because he and Vanessa used to visit in order to find much needed privacy in the early stages of their relationship. Joe began reminiscing, remembering how comfortable they were able to make the back of their old van with an inflatable mattress and a sheet or two.

After twenty minutes he was riding up the well-worn trail to the summit. He turned off his engine and dismounted to remove his headgear and stretch his legs a little. He paced, watching the town and its roads, looking for signs of another motorcycle. His patience eventually bore fruit, because before long he spotted a bike entering the picture, it was Frank heading westwards and starting to approach the very hill he was standing on. _"Bingo!"_

Joe quickly remounted his bike, walked it backwards and nosed it downhill, allowing gravity to take the weight and send him into freefall. It moved surprisingly fast even without the engine running and he reached the fork in the road well before Frank. Joe zeroed in on the sound of the black bike before gunning his machine into life and waiting. He spied the top of Frank's helmet through the trees and when he was about to pass, Joe shot the red bike out from its hiding place to draw level.

This time, Frank did react; he turned the handlebars to the left to avoid what he'd obviously construed as a likely collision and disappeared through some bushes and out of sight.

"Holy smoke!" Joe shouted and gripped his brake to slow down as quickly as he dared without sending himself over the handlebars. He had no idea if Frank had fallen off again, or if he'd turned and was heading in the opposite direction, or if he was off-roading ahead. Seconds later he got his answer as Frank ricocheted back into the road through a break in the hedge, slid slightly leaving a black tire mark in the asphalt and missiled away like a torpedo.

Recovering from his surprise, Joe followed on at the same breakneck speed and they both passed the entrance to a burger bar and entered Bayport.

Joe knew that to stop Frank, he'd now have to outride him as his brother knew Bayport every bit as well as he did. There was no possibility of him becoming disorientated here. His older brother knew all the same short cuts and cheats as he did. All Joe could do was to ride his brother's shirttail and wait for him to make a mistake that would enable him to be forced into stopping.

At first, the landscape was mostly made up of greenery, but it soon opened up into sleepy residential settings and then into the busier downtown business section. Joe attempted several times before they reached the more densely populated area to ride up the side of his brother's bike, but Frank predicted him every time and got in his way. It was frustrating, mentally torturous and physically tiring work and he wished Frank would give it up, but he clearly had no intention of cooperating. Joe was perspiring heavily and his teeth hurt from being ground together, his shoulders so tense they were practically seizing.

Frank took a sudden right and entered a side street adjacent to a drapery store, but wasn't fast enough to fool Joe into missing the turn who was quickly following in hot pursuit. Too hot as it happened, because Joe was immediately aware of the reason why Frank had decided to go in that direction.

Straight ahead was a dumpster and Frank wasn't allowing Joe room to be able to swerve to avoid it. In fact, Frank, it was fair to say, was practically encouraging Joe towards the rusting metal container. He'd slowed down so his younger brother was at his side, ensuring that Joe could neither veer to the right or take any other evasive measure other than to stop. There was a plank leaning against the crate that someone was using as a wheelbarrow ramp, the wheelbarrow itself was parked up next to the makeshift incline while its owner was making a pile of old floorboards on the sidewalk.

Instead of applying his brakes to avoid a life threatening collision and allow Frank to get away, Joe decided to use it instead. He accelerated and blasted ahead aiming his front wheel to hit the makeshift ramp and shot up onto it, taking off into thin air. He pulled on his handlebars, leaned his weight back and lifted himself slightly off the seat, ensuring that while in mid-flight, the front tire would stay above the back wheel. He felt a rush as the bike reached its highest point and started arcing down, dropping to the road far below.

Someone was yelling, probably wheelbarrow-man, but Joe wasn't interested. He was concentrating solely on downing his bike without crashing and smashing, and then he was intended on turning the stunt to his benefit. His back wheel hit hard, the bike's suspension system working wonders to protect him from a spine crunching landing, and then his front tire was settling down into a controlled landing.

Frank might be the one with a pilot's licence, but Joe was the one with the James Bond style licence to thrill! And the best part was that Joe was now ahead as Frank had slowed down to take in Joe's one-man performance. So Joe took the bike into a skid, swinging it sideways in order to block off the exit.

"_What do you think of that, bro?"_ Joe wondered as he watched his brother having to take evasive measures to avoid riding straight into him. Frank ended up making the same sliding move as his younger brother, slipping up to Joe's side and making contact with his thigh, their helmets nose-to-nose.

Joe immediately grabbed Frank's arm and slid his visor up. "I need to talk to you, Frank…I need to talk to you right now!"

Frank slowly raised his own visor and stared back silently for a few seconds before saying: "Screw you, Joe—" and jerking his chin down, his visor automatically dropping. He turned the handlebars and rode away again, Joe's gloved hand unable to hang on as it slipped free, half unfurling from his palm.

As Frank passed the dumpster, he reached out, hooked his fingers over the top of the wheelbarrow and sent it clattering to the ground, pieces of wood flying out into the street, blocking Joe's from being able to follow him.

Joe almost gave up before realising he had one last trick up his sleeve. The direction Frank was heading meant that it would take him longer to get onto Main Street than Joe if he went the opposite way. He could then hopefully cut Frank off and force him off the road. It was a risky move, but as the old saying goes – desperate times call for desperate measures.

By the time Joe had formulated his attack, he had entered the traffic on Main Street and was heading through the center of town, going as slowly as he dared and watching for his brother who soon appeared in his mirror, slewing and picking his way crazily around other vehicles.

Joe cut across on an interception course, keeping ahead the entire way, eventually dropping in front of Frank and readying himself to slow down and force him onto the sidewalk.

Abruptly, there was a weird looking blue and white car at his shoulder and it was doing to him what he had intended to do to Frank. It was slowly edging him to the left and no matter what he did to get out of the situation, the driver of the car was having none of it, determined to make him stop – and come to that, so was the plain white car behind him, boxing him in. Eventually Joe simply ran out of road and the car stopped with its left front wheel half on the sidewalk, the rest angled into the road, the white car stopping behind, sandwiching and preventing him from even backing up to use the walkway.

The race was done. Frank had won and it was all down to the stupid mystery drivers who had decided to interfere in things that didn't concern them!

Joe swung off the bike and began unstrapping his helmet, his full intention to use it as a weapon to batter the hell out of the dumb driver who'd gotten in his way in his funny looking car. He loped around the vehicle as the driver opened his door wide to extricate himself while saying, bizarrely: _"Frank, we need to have a chat." _

The helmet finally came free of Joe's face and he glared his piercing blue eyes straight up into hazel ones. "Do I look like Frank?" he yelled, not looking at all surprised that it was Con Riley. He pushed the helmet into Con's midriff, seriously pissed.

Con fell back against his car and almost ended up back in the front seat and then he automatically shoved back. "I thought you were Frank. Isn't that his bike?"

"Dammit, Con!" Joe bawled and raised his fist in order to hit the car's roof. Con obviously thought the intended punch was for him and flinched. Instantly there was a hand on Joe's wrist from the other side and he turned to find it was a plain clothed Officer Anderson.

"I don't think that would be a good idea!" Anderson warned.

"You dent this car and I'll dent your head, boy!" Con advised, finally working out who Joe's intended victim had been. "You wouldn't believe how much money it took to buy this baby, with no guarantee of getting any of it back."

Joe grunted and made a quick twisting movement with his arm, trapping Anderson's hand and pushing him roughly away, sending him pin wheeling. His hip hit his car's front bumper and he almost fell between it and the bike.

"Cut it out, Joe!" Con ordered and pulled him back by the shoulder and shaking him. "You're goin' the right way to getting yourself arrested. He's a cop, don't forget – he might be a bit wet behind the ears, but he could still get you canned!"

"—Hey!"

"Sorry Anderson, no offence."

Joe finally took a breath and forced himself to cool down. He raised his hands up and settled them on the top of the car, leaned his weight forward and rocked himself a couple of times.

Con continued. "I didn't know you'd swapped bikes with Frank, I thought I was doing you a favor, thought Frank was you."

"Frank stole my keys and took my bike. I couldn't stop him. I can't stop him doing anything any more, he's slipping." He put his hands over his head and rubbed at his scalp. "In the land of _'Making-Bad-Situations-Worse' _I am king!"

Anderson was looking from Con back to Joe, confused. "What's goin' on?"

"Nothing Anderson, I made a poor decision choice is all," Con answered and turned back to Joe. "Go after him, perhaps he's heading to his apartment, it's in that direction remember."

"I hope so," Joe said. "Because if not, we're all seriously screwed. Move your cars!"


	22. Chapter 22

**Boosting - Chapter 22**

Laura Hardy was loading the dishwasher, rinsing each item under the fast running faucet before stacking them with well practiced procedural hands into the machine. She was listening and humming to a CD, so the sound of that combined with the whooshing of running water ensured that she was unaware that anyone had entered the room until she stood up to look out of the window. Her breath was stolen away as she immediately saw the ghostly reflection of a tall, dark man standing stock-still at the back of the room.

She spun, almost knocking her tea over as she reached for the frying pan to use as a weapon, causing liquid to spill onto the shiny counter top. She came into contact with, not the stranger she was frightened of finding, but Frank. "God, you scared me!"

Her son's face was pale and drawn, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Frank looked back at her with a hangdog expression, his pupils wide. He hadn't shaved, a fresh carpet of course hair across his chin, throat and upper lip. It was so unlike her usually impeccably turned out older child.

"What is it?" Laura moved to turn off the water and hit the stereo's stop button. Then she turned her full attention to Frank and reached out.

"Mom—" was all he said and half fell into her waiting arms.

Con had phoned ahead to warn her that Frank and Joe might be on their way to the house, but he didn't go into any details, just said that she needed to get the convertible out of the way so Frank wouldn't see it. So she'd locked the garage door, which was probably why Frank had entered the house via the utility room. She had no idea that anything else was wrong, she certainly wasn't expecting to be confronted by a son who was in worse shape than when he went off for a short break.

"What's happened – are you ill?" she asked, pushing him away to hold him at arms length, laying her hand against his forehead. "You feel hot."

Frank shook his head and leaned in again, so she pulled him close. Something awful must have happened because this was the first real physical contact he'd allowed her since he'd been released from hospital and entered his hermit-like existence with Nancy. _"And where was Joe?"_

"Did something happen with you and your brother?" she eventually asked.

Frank took an audible breath, fingers twitching against her back.

"Something did happen, didn't it?"

There was a pause until Frank finally said. "I can't tell you, Mom."

"Yes you can."

"I truly can't."

Whatever it was, Laura suspected it was Frank's loyalty to his brother that wouldn't allow him to 'tattle' and knew she'd have to do some nifty negotiating to prise it out. "Sweetheart, whatever it is, I won't be angry with either of you. I just need to know that you're both okay."

From the direction of the foyer, she heard the front door being opened and a heavy footstep landing on the wooden flooring. Frank's arms and shoulders immediately stiffening, having heard it too. Then came the sound of Joe's voice, drifting loudly through the house and becoming more strident as he headed towards the kitchen.

"_Mom__! You gotta hide Frank's car, he might be on his way here."_

Frank began to unpeel from Laura's hold and curl upright again, his hands slipping away from her shoulder blades. She looked to find Joe had rounded the doorway and was frozen in his tracks, rear-footed by Frank's presence. She turned back to Frank and tried to stop his arms from leaving her hands by applying some gentle pressure. The intensity in the room was corporeal.

Frank stared down at her, his expression unreadable, his eyes shifting from her to Joe who muttered a curse. "My car?" Frank asked, backing out of her arms entirely, her grip in no way firm enough to even slow him down.

"It was stolen while you were gone," Laura said slowly.

"Stolen? Then how come you've got it, and why would it be so important that it be hidden because I'm comin' here?"

There was a drawn out silence as Laura carefully considered what to say, so long that it was obvious she was trying to hide something. Frank's eyes darkened as they narrowed, so eventually Laura said the only thing that felt right and fair – she told the truth: "Con…and Nancy got it back for you."

"Nancy? But she's in River Heights, how come—" his speech wound down.

Laura watched as Frank began to mentally sort through all the parts of the puzzle that had been presented to him. He frowned as he concentrated, turning each piece over, studying the colors, the texture, weighing them, his eyes jerking about as he processed. Frank was highly intelligent and Laura knew it wouldn't take long for her son to click together all the edge pieces of his virtual jigsaw and then start filling in the middle section.

Joe knew it as well and headed further into the room to stand next to his mother. "Frank, don't—"

Frank suddenly directed an accusatory finger at him. "You set me up. You didn't only take advantage of Nancy returning home; you planned it that way, so you could poke around in my head uninterrupted. You dragged Nancy into it, and even Con."

"Dude, I didn't…I mean I did, but—" In the midst of his struggling, Joe unwittingly looked to Laura for help, which provided those last few center pieces of Frank's conundrum.

"No!" Frank muttered, eyes widening at the implication of his parents being in on the whole thing. His finger was still up, and it moved unconsciously towards his mother before the hand went to his head and buried itself into his hair – a classic self-comforting gesture for Laura's eldest.

"Sweetie, we were worried about you. We hoped that the trip would do you some good." Laura could see he was trying to slide away, groping behind him to find the doorknob to the laundry room. She lurched forward, getting her palm to the door and slamming it shut just as Frank opened it.

And then Joe moved to stop him too, restraining hands taking hold of his older brother's jacket lapels. Using his greater strength, Joe forcibly levered his brother away from the door and press him up against the microwave.

Frank's countenance became one of a cornered animal as he gripped Joe's forearms and they began grappling, Frank yelling for Joe to let him go.

"Joe, stop it!" Laura ordered, stepping to one side to avoid being trampled. "Leave him be!"

Joe reacted to his mother's command and was for an instant distracted enough as to glance around at her and loosen his grip.

Frank immediately broke Joe's hold, gripped onto one wrist with both hands and applied a quick elbow to Joe's chest. Frank then twisted his weight into him. Joe stumbled and went down, Frank dropping his arm once he was on the ground. He turned immediately to take a long, lame stride towards his intended exit.

Laura jumped back, her palms involuntarily raising themselves in front of her face protectively.

Frank's gaped in shock. "You think me capable of hitting you? What the hell, Mom?"

"I don't…no, honey, of course not I—"

Joe rose to his feet.

Frank turned a warning finger on him. "Don't touch me again, bro!" he shouted and turned back to Laura, his next speech delivered at machine gun speed. "Am I so scary? Is that why drugging me was necessary? Did you all think it would make me more compliant? Were you planning on slipping tablets to me regularly if the outcome was to your satisfaction? '_Sedate the mad brother, Joe, that'll do the trick'_!"

"NO!" Joe exploded, appalled at the implication Frank was drowning in. "Frank, man, it wasn't about that. You've got it all wrong, badly wrong. It was me, all me!" he took a step forward.

Frank took a reactionary step of his own. "Don't even think about it, Joe – don't even!"

Bewilderment reigned supreme for Laura; her sons' floundering conversation was too confusing. "What? Drugging you? Honey, what are you—?"

Frank interrupted. "You must think me such a fool!" A sweeping hand went back to his hair. "Can't cope with this. Let me out, huh?" he stepped around her and opened the door again. This time neither she nor Joe tried to interfere and he left at speed, his weight crashing through the door on the other side to the outside world and freedom.

"What did your brother mean?" Laura asked testily, whirling to face her youngest, finding empty air where he'd once been standing. She quickly moved to look through the doorway and across the foyer to find Joe heading to the front door. "Joseph Hardy! Come back here and explain yourself!" she shouted, but he didn't hear…or at least pretended not to as he began to open the door.

She tore after him across the wooden flooring, caught onto his waistband and catapulted him back into the house, astounding herself with her own speed and strength.

And judging by the sound Joe made, she'd surprised him too!

"You stop right there, young man!" she commanded, turning her back to the door and heeling it shut. She stayed there, barring the way, her arms folded and listening to the sounds of a motorcycle starting up around the side of the house.

"Mom, please!" Joe begged. "I've got to sort this out, he's got it all so wrong!"

"What do you think is going to happen if you go after your brother right this second, hmm?" She tipped her head to one side and raised her eyebrows.

"I think—"

"—It was a rhetorical question, honey. I'll tell you what I think will happen. He'll disappear, but if you let him leave voluntarily he's likely to head home first to pack, and then at least you'll have the opportunity to talk to him again…calmly…persuade him against making any rash decisions." She glanced at her watch. "Give him fifteen minutes, and then go to the apartment."

The bike made its way towards the front of the house and seemed to lose speed before there was a loud clatter.

Laura turned to the window and moved the lace under drapes to one side, Joe's head joining hers. What had sounded like Frank taking a fall turned out to be him kicking or pushing the red bike over. Without looking back, Frank sped up and left the front drive.

"Well, it would seem he reallydoesn't want to be followed," Laura muttered. "He's not playing games."

"He definitely didn't want me following me earlier, tried to run me into a dumpster," Joe agreed. "And that bike he knocked over isn't even my bike, it's the Frankster's. It's gonna cost a fortune to get all the dings out of it,"

Laura turned from the window and angled Joe towards the stairs. "While you're giving him his head start, we can have a chat about what's been going on and why your brother's in the state he's in."

Joe sighed and rolled his eyes up. "Great…now I'm for it! Mom, can I say in my own defence that what I did was with the best of intentions." He turned and walked to the stairs to sprawl down. "But admittedly, it went slightly awry and the police got just a little bit involved…and, erm…Chief Collig too. And I might have slightly assaulted one of Bayport's finest on the way over here."

Laura raised an eyebrow. "You sound like your father trying to damage control: _'a little bit-slightly-may have' – could've, should've, would've! _Explain…and don't lie to me, because I'm your mother, I'll know. And you're never too old for a boxed ear!"

*****

Con stood looking at the Ford Fairlane in his garage with his thumb tucked into his front pocket, his other hand resting on the garage shutters above.

His immediate neighbour came out into his yard to laugh at Con's choice of car. Con tried to explain that he only had temporarily custody of it, but his neighbour was having none of it, preferring to jeer away. Con finally caused the man to return to his house at speed when he shrugged resignedly…and then mock charged him like a bull.

_Bizarre…that's how his life had become since he'd gotten involved with the Hardy clan!_

Shaking his head, Con slapped his thigh and looked at his watch. "Ah! It's my favourite time of the day, coffee time!" He went through the inside door into the main house and put his kettle on to boil, heaping two large spoonfuls into his mug to make a really powerful cup. Then returned back to the garage to lower the shutter door and secured it from the inside.

Settling down in the living room at his favourite chair, he propped his heels up onto the coffee table and powered up the TV. He started channel surfing.

"What do you reckon?…Ah, _Buffy_! Can't beat a bit of slayin' and dustin'. Let's watch this, shall we?"

He sat up straighter, shoved a cushion into the corner of the chair and got himself more comfortable, dangling one arm over the side. The episode was about halfway though and he'd seen it numerous times already, but he was such a big fan that he didn't care. He could practically quote every episode – not that he'd ever admit to this secret passion, and certainly not to the likes of Joe Hardy!

His coffee cup made its way to his mouth and paused as his brain started to drift, despite Buffy Summers performing a particularly impressive broadsword fight on the top of a Winnebago!

He thought back to when he'd been picked up at the office by James Anderson, who'd been assigned to him by Ezra Collig. Now Con knew the chief had a sense of humour – and a cruel one. He and James had spent the entire journey bickering like a couple of kids. Con didn't like Anderson's driving and Anderson objected to his back seat advice. But eventually they'd reached their destination, which was a farmhouse, on the outskirts of Bayport.

_Anderson turned to Con. "Oh, almost forgot, X-L—" Anderson started, his hand going to his inside pocket._

"—_As God is my witness, if you call me 'X-L' or 'Ex-Lieutenant' one more time, I'll tattoo the word 'smart ass' into your body with my fists – and no one would blame me!"_

"_Calm down, I was only kiddin'," James said and pulled forth an envelope._

"_What's that?" Con asked as he took possession and sliding his finger along the flap to open it._

"_It's the cleaned up photograph that Mr Hardy asked for, of the guy that took Frank Hardy's car."_

_Con slipped it out to see. It was a good detailed close up, even though still slightly pixelated. Although wearing a cap, the perp's face was clearly visible and dark hair could be seen poking out the sides. Con was sure that if he saw this guy, he'd be able to finger him from that picture. The squint who'd worked on it had done a stand up job!_

_James had been looking at the photo at the same time. "Good, huh?"_

"_Yeah, impressive." Con slipped it back inside the envelope and shoved it into his pocket. "Right, c'mon." He opened the door, and then paused and looked back. "By the way, today James, for the purpose of what we are about to do, you're my son."_

"_Oh, great. Couldn't I be your nephew instead?" he asked, peering sideways at Con._

"_No, you'll be my son, the fruit of my loins – and you'll consider it an honor, chump!" _

_Anderson shook his head. "I hope the guys back at the station don't find out about this." He put his cap on and began fiddling with the peak as he opened his door._

"_Man but you're argumentative!" Con complained._

_As they both stood, a man came out through the front door and gave a little wave. Con nodded and tried not to glare at James who'd stopped in his tracks and was gawping. This was clearly the guy from the photograph._

_Con knew experience would fix Anderson in the long-term, but right now he needed him not to respond to everything like the wind was trying to blow him over. "Hey son, does he look like your pal, Joe, or what?" Con asked._

_Luckily for James, he picked up on what Con was getting at. "Yeah, he does. I thought it __was__ him for a second."_

"_Name's John," Con said, offering his hand to the man who'd stolen his best friend's son's car…a young man who'd been through enough crap this year…a man Con Riley thought of as family. He was mighty tempted to immediately arrest the guy, but knew he needed to play his part in order to catch the whole gang. They needed that car. They needed to get as much physical evidence from it as possible, and then they needed to round up the entire team. Most importantly, they needed to link Bobbie Shandley's disappearance to these guys, and find her. Hopefully alive!_

"_Nice to meet you John. I'm Benjamin. You're looking for a blue Ford Fairlane I understand?"_

"_You understood right. This is my son, James."_

"_I thought so, there's a definite family resemblance."_

_Anderson smirked and quickly clasped Benjamin's offered hand as Con narrowed his eyes warningly._

_Benjamin continued: "Well, if it's a quality collectable car you're after, you've come to the right place!" he said cheerfully and motioned for them to follow him, drawing them towards a rickety shed to the right of the house. "I've been working hard on her, but I'm ready for my next challenge."_

_While his back was turned, Con took a scan of all the windows to see if anyone was watching them, and also to see if someone looking like Bobbie Shandley might be locked up inside one of the rooms trying to catch their attention. He couldn't see anyone or anything sinister. _

_Anderson was doing the same thing, but looking the other way before revolving to view the grounds. He turned fully and they locked eyes, a silent message passing between them that all was quiet. _

_Con shrugged and they carried on following Benjamin to the shed where he was opening up the big door. Presently, he had the padlock opened and was drawing the heavy bolt across and pulling the doors open. _

"Wow! That's gotta hurt!" Con shouted out, yanked out of his thoughts and back to 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer'. Giles-the-Watcher had taken a spear to the chest through the windshield of the Winnebago. "Didn't he see the crusader knight on horseback comin' right at him? He should put his driving glasses on." Con sat up and put the empty coffee cup to one side, settled back down again and checked his watch. "I think it's time for a walk in a little while."

His mind drifted off again.

_Anderson gasped as the barn doors opened to reveal the car within. "One thing you can say for sure, Dad, you'd never go unnoticed driving one of those monsters. It's like something out of a horror movie!" They both entered the shed and orbited around the car. _

_The vehicle was gleaming. The chrome, the paintwork, the mirrors – everything was immaculate. Whoever had restored the car had done a bang up job. There didn't appear to be any dents, scratches or rust patches, not even on the wings, which Con assumed would be the most vulnerable part of the car's bodywork. It even had the white-wall tires. _

_Con made an appreciative noise as Benjamin invited him to sit in the car by opening the door. Sliding in, Con immediately sought out the CD stereo system, seeing the cover that the owner told him would be there. Not that he needed confirmation that this was the boosted car. Benjamin's CCTV image was all the confirmation Con needed._

_Benjamin had been silent the entire time. He didn't have to point out the selling points, the car spoke for itself._

_And so, a deal was struck and Con parted with a stack of money (he swore that it would never fail to amaze him how easy it had been to draw the cash needed from the government bank account, simply by flashing an FBI badge). Con signed some paperwork, accepted the keys to the Ford, and shook Benjamin's hand across the hood. And then he and Anderson left._

_Con and Anderson stopped about a mile into Bayport outside a burger bar, as prearranged to share notes._

"_Didn't see anyone other than Benjamin," Anderson confirmed and held his cap up. "But I got the footage of him. The camera seemed to work fine and I can let you have a copy once I've downloaded it."_

"_Great." Con took the hat from him and inspected the tiny lens imbedded into the side of the peak. "These are brilliant. I might recommend to Fenton that we get some of these."_

"_What are you goin' to do with the car?"_

_From a distance away, Con heard the sound of motorcycles. "The techies are picking it up from my place tomorrow, so it's comin' home with me."_

_James started to laugh and opened his mouth to say something, but then he was looking beyond Con's shoulder at something happening further up the road._

_Con turned to see a bike shooting through the hedge into the field leaving tracks in the grass, some half a mile away. It seemed to lose momentum, but then picked up speed again and blasted forward until the rider found a gap further on and went back through and onto the road. "That was Joe."_

"_Joe Hardy? How can you tell?"_

"_Because I recognise that bike. I was with him when he picked it up."_

"_What was he doing?"_

"_I'm hanged if I know." _

_The two motorcycles passed the burger bar's entrance, the black bike in front of the red one, which was trying to pass. _

"_He must have been using the field as a way of cutting in front of Frank," Con suppositioned. "I need to catch up with them. C'mon, I know a short-cut, and I bet I know where they're heading. Follow my lead Anderson." He got back into the Ford Fairlane and prepared to follow. _

_What seemed like mere minutes later, Con was on Main Street and he and Anderson were forcing 'Frank Hardy' off the road and noting, with confusion, that 'Joe Hardy' wasn't stopping. 'Joe' had driven around them and was gone before Con realised his mistake at having stopped the wrong brother. _

_No matter how disastrous it had turned out, Con knew one thing for certain… he'd been wrong about James Anderson. Yeah, his base attitude was all out-of-whack, but when push had come to shove, the kid had been there at his shoulder and had instinctively supported Con without question – even fronting up to Joe when he thought he was going to use him as a punch-bag. A Joe Hardy who would have made mince meat of James Anderson. He'd not even suggested arresting Joe after he'd been shoved into the car, even though it was a clear case of assault, preferring to bow to Con's intuition through the whole incident. So although Con suspected Anderson didn't like him personally, he knew James, for whatever reason, trusted his judgment._

Con's attention snapped back to Buffy as she burst through the protective force field that had been created by Willow-the-Witch. She was going after Glory-the-God who had abducted Buffy's sister Dawn-the-Key, but Glory was long gone. Buffy stared about her at the carnage left in the God's path, and then slumped down, her mind having collapsed in her grief and horror.

Unable to help but draw parallels between what was happening on the screen, and what had happened with Frank and Joe, Con decided to delay the walk and watch the next episode, his curiosity getting the better of him. And besides, he felt so warm and relaxed.


	23. Chapter 23

**Boosting - Chapter 23**

Joe rode into the basement-parking garage of Frank's apartment building to find with relief that the black motorcycle was there. It had been parked badly with Frank's helmet hanging abandoned on the handlebars, asking to be stolen – evidence enough that his brother was at home. Joe pulled in next to it and took a little time to reposition both bikes and then headed for the elevator with both sets of helmets.

He rode up to his brother's floor and stepped out, half expecting to come face-to-face with Frank waiting to take the elevator back down. Moving to Frank's front door, he put the helmets down and carefully tried the handle, turning it slowly to prevent any noise. He didn't want to alert his brother to his presence, preferring the element of surprise. It was locked, so he took the keys out his mother had given to him, inserted, twisted and pushed the door open – all in one fluid movement. He stepped silently over the threshold, and locked the door behind him.

Joe headed for the living room, but as soon as he was at the end of the hallway, he was spinning upon hearing and seeing a movement. He evidently hadn't been quite as clandestine as he thought as Frank had been waiting for him to pass before ducking of his bedroom to get to the front door. He was now brandishing his own key, getting the door open to get out.

Joe took the five or so paces at a fast run and, like his mother earlier, got his palms to the door and pounded it shut just as Frank got it open.

"Not this time, man," Joe said determinedly and used his larger weight to barge his older brother aside. Frank didn't let go of the key or the doorknob however and continued trying to open it until Joe brought his forearm down to knock his hold loose. Finally, Joe was able to force himself between the door and his brother, locking it again – all the while Frank shouting angrily and pulling at him, wanting him out. Joe turned to face him.

"Give it back!" Frank ordered. "Give me back my key!"

Joe slapped it into his brother's waiting palm, noting the open suitcase on Frank's bed through the doorway. It was half packed and Joe was certain that if he'd left it much longer he'd have come back to an empty apartment. "You need to give me a chance to explain – you owe me that much at least." He pointed towards the living room and took Frank by the upper arm to turn and make him accompany him. "Dude, let's go and sit down, we need to talk."

"Is that right?" Frank asked, resisting and pulling his arm clear. "Be my guest, knock yourself out, I'm finishing my packing."

Joe folded his arms and leaned back against the door. "If you think I'm giving you the chance to run away again you're gonna be disappointed."

"It's a Mexican standoff then!" Frank said churlishly, and broke eye contact to push his key into his jeans pocket and out of harms way.

Watching Frank, Joe suddenly remembering what had dawned on him when he'd been arguing with 'Sandy Hair' at the cabin the previous night – the fact that Frank was always so in control. Joe considered now was perhaps the time for the control that Frank was hiding behind to be mixed up a little. Force him to face up to a few truths. His mom had told Joe to 'take it gently'..._"But treading softly hasn't worked up until now, right?"_

Joe made a sudden forward movement, bending and thrusting himself at his brother. He grabbed Frank around the back of the legs, lifted him onto his shoulders and then drove them both forward through the doorway into the living room. He didn't stop until his shins came up against the sofa's arm, the jarring impetus throwing Frank from his shoulders and onto the cushions. The crashing weight resulting in the sofa shifting about a foot across the wooden floor. "I said we're talking!" Joe said, forcibly.

"Dammit Joe!"

"And damn you, Frank!" Joe shouted, storming around to the front and stabbing himself in the chest with his forefinger. "How do you think it made me feel when you said I'd lost the 'privilege' of your trust? What kind of a crappy, cheap comment was that to throw? All I've done is try and help these last few weeks and you've given zilch back! What have I done to you that you couldn't at least give me the benefit of the doubt?"

"You drugged me!" Frank shouted back, and got up off the sofa to get up into his face. "You had nightmares yourself once, you must have known what you were sentencing me too."

"Frank, you told me nadda and it wasn't because I didn't ask. If you'd told me how terrifying yours were, I never would have slipped you those pills in a million years. Mine weren't comparable, my waking nightmares were far worse than my sleeping ones. It wouldn't have been the same for me. And where did you get the notion that I'd taken on the job of slipping you drugs to make you more 'compliant'? That really is crazy talk. I did it to stop you falling asleep on your bike and getting yourself killed."

"Well maybe that would have been the best thing for everyone? At least then you wouldn't have to worry about me any more. You would've done everyone a favor – you'd have been a hero!"

Joe's mouth dropped open, unable to comprehend why his brother would even want to make such a horrendously hurtful and thoughtless comment. Then Joe's lips were shutting into a tight white line as he grew angry, phenomenally angry, uncontrollably, dangerously, splittingly angry. Any residual patience he had for giving leeway to his brother's strange and irrational behaviour sent running for cover. His arms shot out and he gave Frank an almighty shove, near enough lifting him off his feet and propelling him at the sofa again. This time when he hit, the whole thing tipped over and catapulted him off the back and onto the wooden floor beyond, before settling back on its casters, obliterating Joe's view of Frank on the other side.

Joe didn't know the reaction Frank had expected to receive after his intransigent comment, but Joe was willing to bet it wasn't this – maybe he'd expected Joe to leave? If that was the case, Frank was very very mistaken.

Striding purposefully around the leather sofa, Joe stretched to hook on to the scruff of his brother's neck and hoisted him up into his face with one arm. Frank immediately grabbed onto his wrist, but from the angle he was being held, there was little point in struggling, as there was no way he would be freeing himself quickly, especially with his knee injury and with Joe riding high on his anger.

"Pathetic Frank, really pathetic! Do you know what? I'm starting to realise that maybe losing you as a partner isn't such a bad thing – you've gone weak, and I couldn't work with someone I'd have to baby sit twenty-four seven. The way you've been lately – it's making me ashamed to admit I've even got a brother, let alone a partner. So, as far as I'm concerned you can stay here and drown in a pit of your own misery for all I care, I'm done with it. Now why don't you just…get out of my face, I'm sick of looking at you!" And with those stinging words hanging in the air, Joe ridded himself of his brother by dropping him back down to the ground with a firm push.

Instantaneously, Frank was up and was coming back at him, his reflexes so fast that Joe didn't see his fist coming. One moment Joe was on his feet, having half turned to leave the apartment, immobile and beginning to reject and lament what he'd said, and then he was slammed face down into the floor, feeling as though his jaw was broken in about eight places.

And then before he could recover, he was yanked over onto his back and Frank was on him, pushing him down and holding him, both arms pinned by legs, throat gripped by a strangle hold. Joe looked up and saw his brother, a stranger, his eyes livid and glazed over, teeth bared, hand readied and drawn back for a second blow – and from somewhere a large and wickedly heavy paperweight in its palm. The arm began its descent, Frank demonstrating only too clearly that he wasn't holding back any feelings now and that he was full of passion, spirit and fight…too full of fight!

"FRANK…NO!"

Joe saw his brother physically snap. His head jerked back as a thunderbolt of reality seared through the raw fury, sending him crashing into the reality of what he was about to do. His pupils focused, his mouth twitched, and he managed somehow to deviate the downward arc of his makeshift weapon, enough that the hit, instead of coming into direct contact with Joe's head, skimmed his temple and was driven into the floor. Joe felt the vibration of the impact against his head and across his shoulders.

They stayed frozen for a few long shocking seconds in a ghastly tableau, eyes locked and gasping for air. Scarcely believing what had just happened, how out of control everything had gotten, and what had barely been prevented. If Frank had been a hair's-breath quicker, if he hadn't taken time turning his brother over, if Joe's mouth had been so broken that he hadn't been able to shout out, if Frank's throttling hold had been tighter—.

Eventually, Frank closed his eyes, dropped his head and released Joe from under his body to crawl a short distance away, his hands brushing and patting gently as they withdrew. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"

Joe sat up stunned and prodded his jaw, it made a creaking sound and he was rewarded a shooting pain up his cheek and across his scalp. He assumed it must have been half dislocated and the pushing action had slotted it back into place. He turned to discuss the possibility that his brother had punched him so hard that he'd knocked his jaw out of whack, when Frank started making a noise that Joe hadn't heard him make in a very long time – in fact, on reflection; he didn't think he'd ever heard this particular sound.

Frank was bawling his head off and it was honest, heartfelt, gut-wrenching and really, really loud!

Joe's instant reaction was: _"Holy crap!!!"_ and a lump the size of his fist travelled painfully up his craw.

He scrambled up and went to put his hands against his brother's shoulders. "I didn't mean it Frank," he said, his voice shaking. But this time, his brother didn't react, simply continued wailing miserably and choking, hot tears streaming. He was on his knees, his arms wrapped under his stomach, rocking slightly. It was clear he was incapable of any sort of counteraction, other than to focus on those feelings that had been dormant for so long, feelings that were now wreaking uncontainable havoc.

Joe left him to run quickly to the kitchen. _"Aw man, aw man! I broke him, I broke my own brother! I snapped him into tiny pieces and sent him into meltdown!"_ Joe's face was hot with remorse and shame as he ran a towel quickly under the faucet and filled a glass with water._ "I went too far this time…way too far! Why did I say he was pathetic? – I can't believe I said that he was pathetic…god…the bit about being ashamed to admit he's my brother…what was I __thinking__!?" _he grimaced and groaned at the memory and ran the back of his hand across his forehead. _"How the hell am I supposed to fix him now? Jeeze – I am __so__ brainless!"_

He returned to Frank, who was now slumped back, his forearm across his face. He'd quieted down somewhat, but was still shuddering. "C'mon Frank," Joe said gently and hunkered down. He placed the glass to one side and eased his brother's arm away so he could wipe his face with the damp towel.

Frank snatched it from him, pressed it to his eyes and hunched over. "I'm sorry, I spew out so much bile. I'm so tired all the time."

"Frank, I didn't mean what I said. I was firing from the hip like I always do. I'm such a dumb-ass."

Frank shook his head and made a choking noise.

"Do you want me to get mom?"

Another quick round of head shaking.

"Dude, do you—"

Frank put his palm out. "—Don't speak." his voice wasn't aggressive or unfriendly. In fact, if anything, it was a mixture of authority with a whole bunch of regret. He was beginning to sound like the old Frank, so Joe sat back and bided his time.

Eventually, Frank removed the cloth and accepted the glass of water in an unsteady hand. He took a couple of shallow sips and gave it back.

"Frank, I—"

"—Don't Joe, I am goin' to explain some stuff, but I need a moment."

"Okay."

Frank covered his face again for another couple of minutes and then lowered the towel and started finally talking.

"You all think I've got no fight in me, don't you, that I've given up?"

Joe nodded.

"I have, it's true, but not because I don't have any anger or fight in me. You've no idea how much I'm restraining myself every single day. I'm so hot it's burning me up, but who can I let it out at – you, Nancy? That wouldn't be right; I mean, look what just happened, I nearly caved your head in! I can't even go to my martial arts training because of my knee so there's no outlet. The people I want to vent at are gone and there isn't anyone to fight." Frank sighed. "And you all think I've been pushing you away as well, don't you?"

Joe nodded again.

"And that's probably the truth too. The real reason that I've been retreating is because…and I feel like such a wimp…I'm scared." He put his hand to his chest. "Not for me though, for all of you. During the whole Pandora thing, those guys used threats of harming or killing you to try and make me give up the memory stick. I was being intimidated for the entire time I had the key, not only when you were taken, but for months before they jacked up their game. Dad figured it out, but I don't think he told you, did he? Didn't you notice I had a new phone every few weeks?"

Joe's eyebrows knitted together. Now that he thought about it, Frank did go through a stage of losing phones and he'd stopped being quite so much fun in the office, preferring instead his own company.

Frank's voice had grown hoarse, so Joe offered him the water again. He accepted the glass back and took another couple of sips before continuing: "Arthur Gray told me you were all protected. He basically lied, he couldn't promise that, not for the entire time I had control of the key. The only protection we had was that poor sap they threw off the cliff. The Network couldn't even look after him, and he was one of their own!"

Joe narrowed his eyes.

"So I made a deal with the leader of the Posse – a deal with the Devil. I made him promise that if I gave up Pandora and let him kill me, he'd leave you all alone. He gave me his word and I believed him. So you hit the nail on the head before when you called it a suicide mission, because that was essentially what it became. And the worst part about the whole thing? By surviving, and not cooperating, I ultimately double-crossed him. One day he'll be back to settle the score, so, I know it sounds crazy, but on one level, I wished you'd never revived me, because then he wouldn't have the excuse to come back at all."

Joe opened his mouth to say something, but Frank interrupted him.

"No, don't say anything, let me get this out." Frank audibly inhaled and continued: "It may be that he'll never seek us out, but that doesn't mean someone else won't take the opportunity to pull the same trick on me. My big weakness is out there; it's a known entity. I've been putting a protective barrier around myself. I was pushing you away so you'd all be safe."

Frank gave a bittersweet smile. "It worked well, huh? Because you find me pitiful and pathetic and you're embarrassed to call me brother and you don't want me as a partner. And I've only got myself to blame because I've been a pain in the ass." His eyes threatened to overspill, so he quickly looked away.

"Can I speak?" Joe asked.

Frank shrugged and ran the heel of his hand across his face before, for an instant, glancing into Joe's eyes. It was for the merest second, but it was long enough for Joe to recognise a very familiar Frank. _"At last – there he is, not the Cyborg we've been living with for weeks, but the real Frankster!" _At that moment, all Joe wanted to do was leap on him in celebration, but he knew the timing would have been very wrong and so continued with what he was going to say. "Your logic is flawed, dude."

Frank glanced back again and frowned.

"Yeah, you made a pact with the leader, but distancing yourself or running won't stop him from comin' after us, even if he gets the chance to. Besides which…even if you had died that night, you still hadn't given them the memory stick. So we're all potentially doomed whichever direction you look at it. So you might as well play the safety-in-numbers game and run with the herd."

Giving Joe's point due consideration, Frank was forced to nod in agreement.

"When I was on the ground after I'd been shocked and they thought I was unconscious, one of the Posse said something about us _'being close-knit'_, that we'd give up _'even our lives'_ for each other. That's true, dude, of all of us, not just you." Joe held up an index finger. "But they made one fundamental, schoolboy error, and that was to refer to it as a 'weakness'. It's not a flaw; it's a powerful thing. We support one another, we fight shoulder-to-shoulder, and most importantly – we never give up. And that's why they ultimately lost. What you're actually achieving by fracturing yourself from us is to create your greatest weakness, not ridding yourself of it."

He reached out and gripped his brother's wrist. "So what if he does come back? What's he gonna do that's any worse than what he did already? It's not like we haven't been down that road before, and next time, you won't be facing the danger alone."

Joe shook his brother's arm. "Don't forget you won in the end – you kicked their asses big time Bro! If someone beat me like you did them, I wouldn't be coming back for second helpings. You outwitted and outgunned them practically single-handed, and now The Network have them under wraps."

Joe shuffled closer "As for the other stuff I said—" he put his hand against the back of Frank's neck, looking him squarely in the eye. "—It was unforgivable and I didn't mean a word of it. You wouldn't believe how evil I feel now, I'd never ever be embarrassed to call you brother and I don't think you're pitiful, quite the opposite. What you did for me, for us all, it was amazing, you know?"

He pulled Frank's face in even closer, practically touching foreheads. "But you've got to promise me one thing: stop internalising. I did that when Iola was killed, and no good came of it. Don't go down that same road, that's where the dark places are. You need to get off the downward spiral you're riding, for your own sake, not ours."

Frank's eyes slid away for an instant before shifting back. "Okay."

"And can you stop referring to yourself as being 'crazy', 'nuts' or 'psycho'? Cause you're not, you're ill and there's a massive difference. The Posse were psychos, you're not. And anyway, a little bit of craziness never hurt anyone. When you say stuff like that, it makes us all feel bad."

"Okay, I'll try not to – but I warn you, that'll be a toughie!"

Joe suddenly smiled. "And can we make a pact?"

"What?"

"Please don't try caving my head in again, cause that was seriously scary and way not cool!"

"If we're on that subject, can I ask that you don't throw me into the air again? Bro, you don't know your own strength! Landing on a wooden floor kills!"

"Agreed," Joe said. "Now give me a man hug, Dude, but don't squeeze my butt this time."

Frank chuckled and they both embraced.

Joe immediately noted that the tension in his brother's shoulder's seemed to have finally lifted and he was loose and relaxed. He pounded his brother's back and grinned broadly, experiencing the natural high of a job well done. Then he grimaced. "I feel like crap."

"Join the club. I've been feeling guilty for weeks."

"I don't mean that, I mean my jaw, I think you broke it. It hurts to smile."

Frank pulled back and looked through tired, blood-shot eyes. "I didn't hit you that hard did I?"

"Are you kidding me? You near as damn took my head clean off."

Frank positioned his thumbs against each side of Joe's jawbone. "Open and close…now side-to-side. Nah, it's not busted, don't be such a wimp."

"Dude, a little sympathy here!" Joe protested good-naturedly and got up. "C'mon." He slipped his hand under his brother's elbow to help him.

"Ouch!" Frank muttered once he was upright, hopping slightly when he tried to put his weight on his injured leg.

"Your knee again?" Joe asked.

"It'll never be right, will it? I'm gonna have to lean on you for a while."


	24. Chapter 24

**Sorry guys, but this is my last chapter for two weeks – I'm off on my honeymoon to Crete. Be jealous, be very jealous. I shall be thinking of you all while I'm sunning myself next to the pool and writing…and feeling just a little pleased with myself.**

**But hey-ho, enjoy this chapter until I return. I give you:**

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Boosting - Chapter 24

Con had failed to take in any of the _Buffy_ action and hadn't made any comparisons to the Hardys' lives. Instead, he'd been snoozing and was woken by the end credits. He checked his watch. "Time for that walk," he murmured and stood to go to the garage again, pushing his palm behind.

He shuffled through the connecting door to the garage to fetch the equipment he needed, the door slamming shut behind him. Con turned in surprise. He'd not felt any sort of breeze in the room, heck, the garage shutters weren't even open, so how come the door had swung shut?

Immediately, he realised his fatal mistake. It wasn't anything to do with the shutters or the wind, it was the three men who were standing in his garage, waiting. Three men who must have entered and hidden themselves earlier after Con had entered the house and stupidly left the garage open. Three men who obviously weren't there to throw him a _'welcome-to-your-garage'_ party.

"Hello boys," Con said, lamely, not knowing what else to say, trying but failing to buy himself some time. A wave of inevitability washed over him as they started to move. _"Oh well—"_ he thought prophetically, raising his fists.

They swarmed and hit out, engulfing and assaulting as one single entity, overpowering him with speed and teamwork, striking areas they knew would incapacitate quickly – straight down the middle of his body, front and back. They blocked nearly every reciprocal shot Con tried to get in although he did get in a couple of flaying, well-aimed, clattering punches that sent one man tripping back and giving him a bloody nose, but the long and short of it was that Con didn't stand a hope in hell.

Con was a naturally powerfully built, tough man, but having been taken so entirely by surprise and by a trio of guys who'd obviously done this before, he stood little chance of a single-fisted victory. He took a solid punch to the mouth (which he knew instantly had busted open his lip) and while he was reeling, was grabbed by sets of hands. Then, in what seemed a well-practiced manoeuvre, was thrown careening across the concrete floor to collide into the wall at the side of the connecting door, his forehead hitting hard with an unyielding crack.

One of the men made an exaggerated _"oof"_ noise and burst out laughing.

Con saw ball lightening in a myriad of dazzling colors and crumbled, but before he lost himself completely, caught onto the door handle with his fingertips. As he dropped he managed to keep hold until the door swung wide open. Then he didn't know what was happening any more, too disoriented to be able to make sense of anything, let alone defend himself other than to roll up into a ball. All he knew was that he was down on the ground and being kicked everywhere, but especially his back. He didn't feel the pain, the adrenaline running through his system protecting him from the majority of it.

The kicking suddenly ceased, giving Con a breather. Someone lifted and dropped his arm out of the way to go through his pockets, riffling its contents. Someone else was shouting that they should _"get the car and get out before someone hears us..."_ and someone was laughing; the same man who'd laughed when Con's head had hit the wall.

"_What's so funny? He broke my nose!"_ one of the voices bitterly complained, nasally.

"_It'll improve your looks." _'Laughing Boy' remarked backing up into the doorway and into Con's undulating view. Licking his lips, he smirked cruelly at one of his friends. "Watch this!"

"_Aw, c'mon, he's had enough! The last time you did a running kick into someone's head you nearly killed 'em." – hey, he's FBI and his name ain't John! Well, what-do-you-know, they've sent the big boys after us!"_

Con's FBI badge dropped down in front of him, having been discarded, along with his wallet, now presumably empty of its cash and credit cards.

'Laughing Boy' shrugged. "All the more reason to put him out of action. And anyway, I need the football practice!" He placed his hands wide against the doorframe and leaned back in readiness to catapult and start his run up.

Con's brain started tripping even more at this new threat. _"WWBD (What Would Buffy Do)?!!!" _he wondered. _"Well…usually one of her friend's would come to the rescue, just in the nick of time!"_

And that was when, through the doorway and between 'Laughing Boy's' legs, Con saw a huge, furry, four-legged creature tentatively appear. It had crept into the kitchen, finally resisting Con's palm-down order to 'stay' in order to find out why his master was taking so long getting his leash for their walk. In a split second, his not unsubstantial brain had processed what was happening and he was barrelling at breakneck speed for 'Laughing Boy' and making the scariest noise Con had ever heard.

'Laughing Boy' looked sharply over his shoulder and saw the thing coming for him – all teeth, muscle, vertical fur and waking nightmare. Instead of running into Con's head, 'Laughing Boy' decided instead to hurdle over him, as did his friends and disappear presumably around the far side of the Ford Fairlane.

"Sick 'em, Rebel!" Con muttered as his nearly deaf, German Shepard mix, ex-police dog, launched himself over his prostrate body and went snarling, barking and salivating after the men who'd done this to his friend.

The men's' legs reappeared to run past and get to the connecting door, obviously unable to leave via the shut steel garage doors – not for want of a loud, clattering effort though!

"_Go on, Rebel!" _Con thought.

Rebel threw his 114 pounds of weight into the first available man, knocking him flying and sinking his teeth hungrily into the man's calf muscle. The man screamed for help and kicked out, a denim tearing noise offering up proof of Rebel's razor sharp teeth and not unsubstantial bite pressure.

'Laughing Boy' stopped and began pulling Rebel by the scruff to dislodge him, but failing – that is, until Rebel got bored with his prize and turned his attacking attention to the one annoyingly pulling at his fur! The first man scrabbled up and started hobbling through the house leaving a trail of blood and 'Laughing Boy' to his fate.

Eventually, after enjoying the spectacle of Rebel dragging 'Laughing Boy' around his kitchen and leaving plenty of DNA evidence to point a convincing finger at the man's involvement in his attack; Con waved to get his dog's attention and made another hand gesture to stop the mauling. Rebel immediately did as he was instructed and backed up into the doorway, snarling and barking at 'Laughing Boy', daring him to attack his master again, protecting Con. The stranger got up, cradling his ravaged bleeding arm and left at speed.

All was suddenly deathly quiet.

Rebel turned and trotted back to Con who put his thumb up and rubbed the dog's head to show him he'd done well.

Con knew he wasn't going to be able to get back up, even with Rebel nudging and making encouraging noises. His head was surging and rolling, the garage seeming to physically heave and pitch, the cement floor reverting back to its natural liquid state and sucking him down. He could taste blood in his mouth and now that his adrenaline levels were dropping, his back and head were starting to dully ache. He swiped at his face as blood had begun running into his eyes, fogging his vision still further. But all was not lost, Con had one final trick up his sleeve for his hero, dead smart, doggy friend to perform.

Con made a phone shape with his thumb and little finger and put it to his ear. "Seek it out, Rebel, fetch it, buddy!" He sent the dog away with a hand flick.

Rebel ran off for a few seconds, returning at speed proudly carrying a drool covered cell phone. Con took it between scuffed fingers and scrolled for Nancy's number, but found he couldn't focus on the screen, the print too small. So he tried dialling 911 instead, but only got as far as mis-selecting an '8' before he wasn't focusing in on anything, period, the phone instead slipping from his fingers and shattering against the concrete.

Con's last feeling was Rebel's hot breath against his cheek as the dog leaned against him and whined worriedly.

*****

Frank entered his room and glared at the bed. Okay, so he'd come to some conclusions, helped in no small way by Joe, but he still wasn't holding out any hope that he'd get any more sleep tonight than he'd had every night since the Pandora case. He sat on the end of it and started removing his boots.

He and Joe had talked for hours, even argued, especially about Nancy. For some reason, she was under the impression that he was on the brink of dumping her, which couldn't have been further from the truth. She was the only one thing in his life that he was dead sure of.

"_I was only goin' to go away for a few days and get my head sorted out!" _Frank had explained._ "Yeah, I'd told Nancy that she should find someone with 'normal problems', but I didn't mean to make her feel that I was considering leaving her. I was suggesting that if she wanted to walk away she could. I haven't exactly been an easy person to be around! But __no way__, she's the one…you know?" _

Frank considered his bed again. He was lucky if he got four hours of sleep a night, and some evenings, barely two. The problem was, when he lay his head, all he was doing was waiting for the horrors to begin and it was so hard just to drop off, and when he did…it was too much like hard work, which was why he'd stopped even trying, only allowing himself enough sleep to exist on a pseudo-normal level. He'd become an expert at catnapping.

He took a shower, standing under the hottest water he could tolerate for half an hour, allowing the water to wash away his humiliating little boy tears. He wasn't a crier, he hated crying, but his dam had been breached and he couldn't stop. Frank had no choice but to sob quietly, hope Joe couldn't hear from the next room and wait it out.

Frank knew Joe hadn't meant the harsh things he'd said, that it was a heat-of-the-moment thing, but his words still hurt, cutting deeply through inches of sternum and into Frank's heart making him bleed painfully out with each thundering beat.

Eventually he stopped weeping, not because he felt any better, but because he was physically unable to, his outpouring of raw emotion having exhausted him. He supposed this was the _'next stage to recovery'_ that his therapist had once talked about, _the 'grieving for the loss of your past self'_ or some such psycho-babble he'd had his head filled with..._"Yeah right!"_ Frank leaned his forehead and palms against the wall tiles and used the boiling blast of water to massage his shoulder muscles into a tired and relaxed state.

He stepped out, dried himself and pulled on his draw-string pants and undershirt. As he was leaving the room, he caught sight of himself in the mirror – a thinner and older Frank looking back. He'd lost weight and condition and hadn't even noticed. The only thing he'd seen when he'd been looking for the last eight weeks had been those scars on his face and the fact that when he pulled an expression, it was so different. His face, one that had always been so expressive, was now lacking. He didn't feel like himself, a stranger in his own apartment, an alien…he was hideous, he hated it.

Despite his teasing of how vain Joe was, Frank had been secretly holding his own large vanity jar. It had been hard growing up and having a brother who was a total babe magnet while you were known as the 'nerdy, serious one'. It had taken hard work to invent and retain his 'tall, dark and mysterious' outer-coating, and now all that he'd worked so hard for had been pulled down…not only his face...everything! His sense of self had been shattered and he was floundering amongst all those broken pieces, many of them razor sharp.

He went through to his bed and gave it another glower of distaste before slipping between the covers and laying his head on the pillow, knowing, but not caring that he was wetting it with his damp hair. This time, he decided to take the bull-by-the-horns, switch off the lamp and settle down – after all, Joe was in the next room, so if anything happened he was seconds away. Frank was convinced, however, that he wasn't going to fall asleep as his heart was thundering and his head was too full of fast moving images.

_Frank was standing at the top of those familiar High School stairs with his back to the roof door. He turned and looked through the glass seeing Joe bending over 'him' with the __defibrillator, __shocking 'him' and shouting. It was weird being able to watch himself like that, not something he could easily bend his brain around. "Go on, bro!" he said, encouragingly._

_Just as he finished watching Joe getting 'his' heart started again and lifting 'him' into an embrace, Frank heard a sound, a heavy shuffling noise that had him spinning. All at once, his face was level with a broad, muscular chest. He knew what and who this was, but nevertheless he couldn't stop himself from playing the game. _

_Frank's eyes roved up…and up…and up some more until he was looking into the face of the darkly dressed, and hooded thing – The Beast!_

"_Ah, there you are Mr Hardy. I've got a few bones to pick with you. A small case of a bargain you backed out of," it said and pointed a long, black finger towards the scene on the other side of the door._

_The sheer size and power exuding from The Beast was enough to scare the living crap out of Frank, but it was the eyes that finished him off every time. They were blood red, missing their pupils, and devoid of any other color. Crimson – dispassionate, blank, dead and glacial – straight from bowels of hell itself._

"_No, back off—" Frank muttered and turned to open the doors that led onto the roof and to the Hardy brothers. But before he could open them, The Beast was talking to him, advising him: "Are you forgetting the grenade? You don't want to blow your brother off the face of the earth would you…or do you?" It started to chortle, a rattling and phlegmy sound from the back of its throat._

_So Frank snatched back his hand and reversing towards the stairs instead._

_The Beast abruptly stopped sniggering and pulled forth a wicked looking knife, a taloned hand gripping the hilt. "I'm going to slice you up, Hardy, and when I'm done with you, it's Nancy's turn and then Joe's – and you get to watch!"_

_Frank didn't wait to hear more, he started running down the stairs, down and down, going around and around each turn. There was only supposed to be four floors to the building, but for some reason, the descending was endless, never reaching ground level. Frank was becoming disorientated, claustrophobic, the walls and ceiling bearing down and trying to slow him._

_All the time he was fleeing, Frank was only too aware of the powerful entity pursuing, its weight causing the stairwell to jump with each step, but Frank dared not look back. To look eye-to-eye with the abhorrence would be his undoing – that much he knew. But he also knew he wasn't ultimately going to be able to outrun it, no matter how fast his legs went, but he had to try. _

_And then it happened, his knee collapsed and he staggered and fell, scraping his hands but crawling and slithering forward, panicked and breathless, whimpering and petrified beyond measure. But then heaviness was on him and he wasn't making any further progress. Reaching trembling fingers up, he grabbed onto the banister to try and haul himself free of whatever was trying to restrain him. _

_Everything stopped, because something cold had dropped onto his shoulder. He looked slowly across and found a large hand pinning him and stopping him from moving, the skin so decomposed that it was hanging in tendrils off the bones, dripping and putrid, the fingernails black and wickedly pointed. _

_Frank was turned over, and the hand was around his throat and over his jaw and he was screaming and screaming as he was forced to look again into those ghastly blood eyes, about an inch from his face. Pure evil emanated forth as he smelt The Beast's hot, fettered, and stinking breath as it hissed. _

_A mouldering finger slithered into Frank's mouth and began snaking its way down his throat, causing him to gag and cough, silencing him. Frank wanted desperately to fight, but inexplicably, his arms were cuffed behind his back and he could do nothing to defend himself._

_The Beast showed him the knife again and started chuckling, quietly at first, and then increasing in intensity until the phlegm filled laughter was deafening, setting Frank's eardrums ready to explode. Frank's hackles arose as he gaped into those red eyes feeling his soul being drawn forward and sensing he was about to mentally implode again. _

"_Time to pay your dues!" The Beast told him as the knife travelled towards his face, nearing his right eye, the blade eventually completely filling his field of vision as it began to actually press up against his eyeball and dig. Frank began gibbering in his terror, begging to awaken. _

_But not this time__, this time something different happened._

_Abruptly the blade moved away and his arms were no longer shackled. The rotting finger slid from his throat, out of his mouth and away from his neck. Frank was scrambling backwards, still screaming from the loathsome vision in front of him as The Beast was hauled in the opposite direction, a more than surprised expression on its hideous visage! _

_Once Frank had recoiled a distance, he saw what had stopped the blade from doing its usual job, and he was struck dumb. It was his brother, and Joe was pulling The Beast away from him, and Joe was plenty mad!_

"_You get the HELL away from my brother, __I'm__ the only one allowed to push him around like that!"_

_Joe picked up The Beast with one arm and threw it over the balcony onto the stairway below as though it weighed nothing – even though it was twice Joe's height and probably twice his girth. The Beast landed with a crash and looked up at Joe and bared its two rows of yellow, razor teeth._

"_Yeah__, you look at __me__ now pal, not __Frank__!!" Joe pointed at his own eyes, the blueness of them almost translucent, his blond hair white. He took a few more steps down to where Frank had retreated and stood protectively over him. "You okay, Frank?" he asked, and winked._

_Frank didn't get the chance to answer because The Beast was getting to its feet again, holding the knife aloft and hissing, stealing Joe's attention away._

_Joe wafted his hand in front of his nose. "Dude, take my advice – when you brush, try flossing, and use a medicated mouthwash! You __stink__!" _

_The Beast said nothing, simply swayed in a stalking motion and snarled, its lizard-like green tongue darting in and out, scenting the air as a snake would._

_Peaking a cocky eyebrow, Joe tipped his head questionably on one side and eyed the knife. Grinning toothily, he put his hand against the back of his pants. "Nice blade, man, but not as nice as mine!" He gripped onto something above his belt line and lifted it forth. It was also a knife, but Joe's was at least a foot longer. Joe held it aloft and turned it so light bounced off the mirrored finish, reflecting it into The Beast's crimson eyes. "Well, I suppose it's technically a sword, but let's not split hairs, eh?" Joe's blade was so bright…so bright…as bright as the sun itself!_

_The Beast made a high-pitched, ear-splitting screech as steam began to rise from its eyeballs as the light glinted off Joe's blade. It clamped a rotten hand over its face and started running off down the stairs._

_Joe turned to Frank and gripped him by the upper arm to help him up from the floor. "It's time for you to leave, bro. I'll deal with The Beast – you've got other things you should be doing." Joe conjured an opening in the wall with a flick of his head and pushed Frank firmly through it. "Enjoy the beach – happy dreams, dude." Joe said and clapped Frank on the shoulder before closing the opening and leaving him on the other side._

_Frank raised his palms in bewilderment, but eventually turned to find he was standing on warm sand, his feet bare and his drawstring pants rolled up to his knees. He walked towards the sea, feeling a real peace wash over him as the salt water began lapping over his toes, the sounds of the gulls screeching overhead._

"_Where have you been?" Nancy asked, interrupting his thoughts and squinting up at him from over the top of her sunglasses._

"_I'm not sure. Went for a walk, I guess." Frank said, plonked himself down next to her and waved at Callie and Iola who were strolling past..._

Frank was suddenly bolt upright in bed. It was light outside and he felt strange…good strange! It was like he'd been scrubbed clean. He pushed the bedclothes down to his waist, stared at his hands and prodded his chest.

"_You okay?" _someone asked, the bed moving as they sat down.

He looked up to find Joe still in his own nightwear, an amused expression on his face. He was putting a cup of something hot down on the floor.

"You look really weird!" Joe observed, and grunted as Frank yanked him into a violent embrace. "Dude!"

"Something good happened, and I think you had something to do with it."

"Okayyyyy."

And then Frank was pushing Joe away, red in the face, embarrassed. "Dunno what that was about, bro. Let us never speak of it again – I'm still half asleep."

"Whatever. I'm surprised it took you so long, actually. No one can resist me, be it woman, man or brother. It was only a matter of time."


	25. Chapter 25

**I'm back!!! Did you miss me? Don't answer that. :-)**

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Boosting - Chapter 25

Nancy was a worried woman, but for once, not about Frank.

Joe had phoned her the previous night while Frank had been taking a shower. He hadn't been able to talk for long, but he'd wanted to reassure her that she wasn't about to be dumped, not by a long shot, and everything was going to be ultimately okay. Nancy was so relieved that she didn't push for any further information, just said thank you…profusely…and rang off to get an unexpectedly restful night's sleep.

What was playing on her mind now was that Con had promised to phone her to report back on the Ford Fairlane, but he hadn't. Not only that, but the answering machine was still switched on at the office and Con's cell wasn't picking up. All she was getting was a _"the person you are calling is unavailable"_ automated message.

And so here she was, jogging up the stairs to the Agency offices, hoping he'd simply forgotten to turn the answering machine off. She tried the door handle, it was locked, no one was there. _"Now I __am__ worried!" _Entering, Nancy went to the tabletop refrigerator and pulled the door open to see that the milk carton was still inside with the quarter inch or so of liquid from the day before. Knowing Con's caffeine addiction, he'd never have left the office before having a cup first so he'd evidently not been in.

She picked up the phone and dialled the Bayport Police precinct's number. When it was answered she asked to speak to Chief Collig and told them it was urgent and that it was about Con Riley. Immediately she was put through.

"_Nancy Drew – this is an honor!" _Collig's voice boomed.

And Nancy somehow knew that he wasn't being sarcastic. "Oh! Well…thanks…I guess," she responded, embarrassed. "Likewise."

Collig chortled. _"What can I do for you, Princess?"_

"I'm trying to track Con down. He hasn't turned up for work and I can't get hold of him. Yesterday, he said he was going to ask you for some help with viewing one of the stolen cars. Did he do that?"

"_Yes he did and I assigned Anderson. I'm sure things went according to plan, but hold on a second there, Nancy, let me see if I can find him."_

The phone went heavily down onto the desk and she listened to the squeak of his chair and his heavy footsteps moving away. Seconds later: _"__ANDERSON__!"_ he bellowed, unselfconsciously.

Nancy cringed. "Crumbs!" she muttered.

Quick, running footsteps were heard returning, and the receiver was picked up. _"Hello, Anderson speaking."_

"Hi James, it's Nancy Drew. How are you?"

"_Nancy! I'm great. Did Con tell you—"_

Nancy cut him off mid-sentence. "_—_Do you know where he is?"

"_Who…Con? At home isn't he, waiting for the lab geeks? I left him outside his house, hiding that ugly car in his garage. Is everything okay?"_

"Probably." Nancy said vaguely. "Could you give me his address? I want to swing by there."

"_Do you want some company?" _James asked, concerned.

"No thanks, just his address'll do, I'm sure it's nothing. He probably slept in."

Fifteen minutes later Nancy was pulling up onto the driveway of Con's single-story residence. She noted immediately that his regular car was there but was out on the road. Her expectation would have been for it to be parked in front of the garage doors.

She pulled on her emergency break to stop her car rolling (Con's drive was on a slope) and climbed out. Stepping up to the front door Nancy pressed the doorbell home, hearing it buzz inside. She counted to ten before trying again and getting the same non-result. So she went to the nearest window and cupped her palms to peer in. There was no sign of Con, but she could see that his TV was on, so put her fist to the glass and began rapping loudly. "Hey Con!" she yelled. "Con!"

Another car pulled up onto the drive and Nancy turned to find it was a police cruiser with Officer James Anderson at the wheel having disregarded her earlier wishes. He gave a wave and stepped out. "What's happening?" he asked as he put his cap on and slammed the door.

"I don't know. His TV is on, but no one's answering…why are you here?"

"The Chief sent me. And if he hadn't, I'd have come anyway."

Nancy sighed. "What is it with cops and ex-cops? Don't any of you trust me to do anything on my own?"

"Don't give me a hard time, Nancy, I'm just doing my job! We'll argue about it once we've found Con. Let's try around the back, X-L might be in the yard and didn't hear you." He led her around the side of the house.

There they found the wide-open back gate, swinging and creaking gently in the wind. Before either of them could remark upon it, Anderson stumbled.

Nancy caught his arm and looked down at what had caused him to turn his foot. "Uh-oh," she muttered. "It's the padlock." They looked at the gate to see that the hasp had been torn away. "Looks like someone broke in—."

"—Or someone broke out," Anderson said significantly and went through.

Rounding the corner, they found that the back of the house was also wide open. "This is not good!" Anderson said and drew his gun. He flicked the safety off and held it towards the sky. "Dried blood around a door handle is never a good sign." He motioned for Nancy to stand back and approached, checking the windows as he went.

Anderson eventually reached the door and pressed himself flat against the brickwork before spinning and stepping in front of the opening with his gun hand outstretched, supported by the other. All at once something big and heavy shot out, knocking him squarely on his behind.

Giving a startled squeal, Nancy jumped, staring wide-eyed at the large animal that had so easily bowled James over.

"Hi-ya Rebel, you okay, laddy?" Anderson asked. "What's goin' on, eh?" he asked, rubbed the dog's big head and pulled himself out from beneath the excited animal who was clearly delighted to see the young cop. "You're darned lucky I didn't shoot, ain't ya?" he chuckled and kissed Rebel hard on the head before finally getting to his feet.

Nancy was still eyeing Rebel nervously, having retreated closer to the gate.

"It's okay, Nancy, it's Con's pooch."

"That's no 'pooch', that's a proper hound! Con never told me he had a dog. Okay…he's big."

"He's a big softie is what he is, and he's near enough deaf which is probably why he didn't sense me until I showed myself." Anderson leaned down, caught Rebel's eye and pointed towards Nancy. "That's Nancy, she's nice, so be a gentleman." He put this thumb up. "Where's your daddy?" he asked loudly making a sweeping, pointing motion with his finger. "C'mon lad, lead us to Con."

Rebel immediately turned tail and went back into the house, followed by Anderson with Nancy trotting up behind.

Anderson and Nancy both exchanged a look as soon as they entered. There were blood splatters leading right the way through the length of Con's abode.

"Oh no!" Nancy muttered.

Anderson hadn't re-holstered his weapon, preferring to keep it handy and held high. They continued to follow Rebel who had disappeared into the kitchen out of sight, to appear seconds later with a _"c'mon!"_ expression on his face. They stepped through the doorway to find Con lying unmoving inside the garage, the Ford Fairlane still behind him.

"Con!" Nancy shouted and ran to kneel down, now not at all frightened of Rebel, whose warm brown eyes were watching her as if to say: _"Make my friend well again". _Nancy put her hand to Con's cheek feeling a pleasant emanating warmth. "Con?" she asked again, positioning her face close to his and scanning him for signs of awareness.

Con muttered incomprehensibly, but didn't open his eyes. When she took his hand, he squeezed it hard for an instant before going limp again. He wasn't in good physical shape, black and blue, half his face a bloody mask, presumably from the open scalp wound running along his hairline. "Who did this to you?" Nancy asked, but didn't get a response.

Shocked and pale, Anderson also crouched. "Okay, X-L, you're gonna be fine, we'll get-cha fixed up," he said gently with a squeeze to Con's shoulder. He then looked behind and back into the house before turning disturbed hazel eyes down on Nancy. "Call for an ambulance and back-up, tell them we've got an _'officer down_,_'_ they'll come quicker. I'm going to check there's no one still here…Jesus, there's blood everywhere, this can't be all Con's! I suppose whoever did this must have come up against Rebel. I'm glad I followed you now."

"So am I," Nancy admitted, reaching for her cell phone and noticing Con's FBI badge, wallet and broken handset lying a little away from him.

"Don't touch anything if you can help it."

"I know the drill, James," Nancy assured him and keyed 911.

Before leaving, James looked at Rebel and put his palm out. "Stay Rebel, look after Nancy and Con," he ordered and moved off through the kitchen, muttering, "whoever did this had better not still be here, or I'll do time for murder!"

Before long, the house was swarming with cops – clearly Con had been a popular member of their extended family. Far more officers were there than necessary and most were only entering the house to come through to the garage to check Con out – every one of them showing tangible anger. He still wasn't responding at all, completely out of it...even when Collig yelled a direct order.

Rebel and Nancy were Con's constants, staying at his side – Nancy still gripping his hand and hoping for another reassuring squeeze, and Rebel lying down the length of his master with his head on his shoulder. Nancy was wiggling her fingers into Rebel's fur for comfort, as much for him as herself.

Nancy was convinced Rebel was the reason why Con had been so warm when she'd felt his face. That hound, Con's loyal housemate, had probably laid curled and pressed up next to him the whole night, almost certainly ensuring Con's survival for the time he'd been lying there in the cold. Ever the pack animal.

The paramedics arrived and asked Nancy to move away, which she did, extracting her cell phone again and going to the other side of the Ford Fairlane to make a call.

Anderson had found a leash from somewhere and he and Rebel were now standing solemnly watching as the medics went to work on their fallen comrade.

Nancy was watching the paramedics' progress as she scrolled for Joe's number. She was feeling a little guilty that perhaps she should be phoning Frank, but it didn't feel appropriate as he'd effectively quit and this was agency business. She hoped that Frank wouldn't mind being demoted from his top-of-the-pile boyfriend status on this occasion.

"_Hi Nancy!" _Joe said. _"Babe, you're goin' to have to quit ringing me, Frank's starting to suspect something!" _he quipped and then said, _"Ouch…"_ as Frank had obviously sucker punched him.

"Joe—" she started.

"—_What's up?"_ he asked, interrupting, his voice now serious. She heard Frank mutter a question in the background. _"I dunno,"_ Joe said in response.

"Con's been hurt, someone attacked him at home," Nancy answered.

"_Is he okay?"_

"No, he isn't. Can you—?"

"—_Where are they taking him, Bayport General?"_

"Yes."

"_We're comin',"_ was all Joe said before disconnecting.

Nancy mentally thanked Joe for his directness at not wasting time by asking any more questions and called out to James over the top of the car. "What are we going to do with Rebel? He can't very well stay here, can he?"

"He's comin' home with me, I'll take care of him."

*****

The Hardy boys were already at the hospital when Nancy arrived, sitting in the waiting area, helmets under their chairs, and…well…waiting!

Nancy couldn't help but smile at how handsome they looked in their leather jackets, jeans and boots – both dressed similarly, but looking oh so different.

Frank was leaning his elbows on his thighs and was staring at his feet or maybe his knee, his face stoic and unmoving. Joe was upright, scanning the faces of the other people milling about with an intense, unreadable expression, his brows set low. Frank's walking stick was leaning up against the chair next to him, fully assembled.

Turning his head, Frank went to say something and Joe leaned towards him, but almost immediately Frank's attention was switched having sensed Nancy's presence. His eyes locked straight onto her and Joe did the exact same thing a split second later, but only because Frank had.

The older Hardy rose to his feet to move towards Nancy with the aid of his walking stick and immediately was cupping her chin and drawing her face up to his.

Joe leaned back in his chair and took a sudden all consuming interest in a poster giving the link between skin cancer and sun worshipping as his brother and his girl kissed and hugged.

"Nan, I'm sorry I caused you to think—" Frank began to whisper, but Nancy cut him off by putting a finger to his lips.

"Shush, doesn't matter. New start?"

"Yeah, okay," Frank said and pulled her into another round of deep kissing, only parting to move and sit once Joe started a round of significant coughing.

Before Nancy sat, and when Frank wasn't looking, she silently mouthed a _'thank you'_ at Joe and he gave her a curt and almost indiscernible _'you're welcome'_ nod back and a half-wink.

"Has Con arrived yet?" Nancy asked, sinking down.

"Yeah, they wheeled him through a while ago. What the hell happened to him?" Joe asked. "He was beaten to a pulp…someone did a real job on him!"

"I'm not sure—" Nancy began and stopped because they heard the sound of charging footsteps coming up the corridor from the direction Nancy had just come from. Seconds later, a still uniformed but hatless Officer Anderson rounded the bend and skidded to a halt nearly running into someone. "Oops, sorry!" He craned and sought Nancy out before blurting: "What's the news?"

"We don't know yet…do we?" Nancy asked, turning questioningly to the Hardys.

Joe shrugged. "No, nothing yet. You okay, Anderson?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You seem a bit wired…doesn't matter." Joe turned to his brother, "Frank, this is James Anderson, he was the cop who helped to destroy Pandora with Con, Nancy and Van, and took out Rodden, that cop who was really with The Network."

Frank stood and James came forward to accept his hand and they both exchanged a few words – Frank thanking him for his assistance that night, and Anderson enquiring after the older brother's physical health.

Nancy was watching Anderson. She was sure from his reaction to Con's assault that he cared a lot more about his ex-boss, or _'X-L'_ as he'd suddenly started calling him, then he would normally have let on. All that winding up of Con was obviously an attention seeking mechanism and it was something he'd apparently started doing after Con had left the force – he certainly hadn't been doing that during the Pandora case. In actual fact, she suspected Anderson probably looked up to Con, hero-worshipped him, and it was kinda cute! She wondered if Con had noticed.


	26. Chapter 26

**Boosting - Chapter 26**

"What happened to your jaw?" Anderson asked Joe, observing the slight swelling and bruising that Frank had gifted him the day before.

"Uh, ran into a door, clumsy."

Frank shifted uncomfortably before motioning for James to take his seat and moved to perch on the window ledge behind to stare out of the window. He extended his leg along the length of the ledge and tucked his stick down the side of his outstretched limb.

Nancy continued with her story of what she suspected had happened to Con. "I'm…we, I should say—" she corrected, glancing at James, "—aren't sure what happened but we suspect someone broke in to ambush Con. Maybe they discovered who he was, or maybe they wanted to take back the Ford Fairlane for some reason. One thing's for sure, if they didn't know Con was working on the case, they certainly do now because his FBI badge was on the ground when we found him. I don't think they bargained on Rebel being there, or it could have been a LOT worse."

"Or, of course, it could have been a regular burglary gone wrong," Anderson pointed out. "We could be jumping to massive assumptions."

"Ford Fairlane?" Frank asked. He'd turned from the outside view, his full attention now on what Nancy was saying.

"Is that the fancy car Con used to force me off the road?" Joe asked.

"Yep," Anderson confirmed.

"Hang on, what's this about an FBI badge?" Frank asked.

"Yeah, and who's Rebel?" Joe asked next.

"Con's dog of course," Nancy said with a smile. "There was blood running right through the house that we don't think is Con's, so Rebel probably had a bit of fun with whoever was trespassing."

"Con's got a dog?" Joe exchanged a surprised look Frank, his eyebrows so high they were almost travelling off his forehead. "Holy cow, Frank, are you as confused as me?"

"Probably more – FBI?"

An unrelated thought suddenly entered Nancy's head. "We should be contacting Con's family."

"I'm not sure Con has any kin," Joe said. "He's never talked about them to me. But I suppose if Con's not goin' to tell anyone he's got a dog, the Dude's not gonna mention family, is he?"

"We know about Rebel at the precinct," Anderson said. "He's one of our ex-police dogs, but when his hearing started to go it ended his career and they couldn't use him, so Con adopted him. Dunno about family, but I can report in and find out?"

Frank spoke up. "Actually, I'm pretty sure Con does have family, but I think he's estranged from them. I heard mom and dad talking about it once."

"I'll give dad a call," Joe decided. "We should be keeping him in the loop anyway."

Joe selected his father's number. It was answered after only a couple of rings. "Hi Dad, I—" he paused, listening. "—No I'm in Bayport, what do you mean?"

Jumping from his seat Joe began pacing, listening, but after a while, started trying to interrupt: "Dad…Dad…DAD, will you listen to me! I don't know anything about having to come to River Heights, okay? It's not that I'm disobeying Con. Con didn't tell me because he wasn't able to. That's why I'm phoning…he got attacked at home last night…no, I'm not kidding around, what do you take me for?"

Joe rolled his eyes, exasperated. "We want to know if there's anyone we should be contacting, like family?…Oh I see, that's what Frank said…hang on a second Dad—" he dropped the handset. "Dad said Con hasn't any family he's in contact with." Joe paused, his eyes flickering towards Frank and moving away as quickly. "I'm goin' to go outside, I need to talk to dad. Business stuff." Joe turned on his heel and left.

Nancy looked at Frank who was gazing out of the window again with his arms tightly folded. At first glance, he appeared unfazed by Joe's hasty departure, but he hadn't fooled Nancy. She could see the muscles at the side of this jaw working furiously and his heel was tapping against the floor.

Ten minutes later Joe was back. "I've gotta go. I don't want to, but Jack Wayne is waiting for me and I've gotta swing by the office first. Dad needs me in River Heights, he's got a lead on that PI that went missing…Bobbie is it?" he asked Nancy, holding her gaze a little longer than felt comfortable.

She nodded a confirmation wondering why he was staring so intensely.

"I can't leave dad alone, especially now the bad-guys have gotten wind of their FBI involvement. You can come with me if you like Nancy, unless you're set on staying here for Con?"

And then Nancy knew why he was holding her gaze; he was sending a silent message to 'play along'. "Erm…yes, I'd rather stay, so at least there's someone Con recognises when he wakes up, if you don't mind." She wasn't lying; she truly didn't want to leave Con alone.

"No, that's fine."

"Joe—" Frank said suddenly. "Do you—" he stopped.

"You want to come with me?" Joe asked slowly.

Nancy saw color rising to Joe's cheeks. He really, really wanted Frank to say _'yes'_. Joe couldn't hide any emotions from her, they were always written across his face in plain sight. _"The crafty devil!"_

And in response, Frank was either playing Joe's game, or he was totally unaware of what was happening and had fallen into his sticky web. "Well…I thought, that if Nan is staying, you could use the extra back-up?"

"I'm staying here," Nancy said firmly and half smiled at Joe, knowing Frank couldn't see her face.

Joe raised his shoulders non-committedly. "Whatever. No skin off my nose." He bent and extracted their helmets from under the seats, knocking Anderson's legs aside with Frank's before handing it across. "Let's go, dude, time is money!" He jammed his hard hat onto his head and began to deal with the chinstrap before turning to walk quickly away.

"Hey! Hold up, Joe!" Frank said and got down off the window ledge. He gave Nancy a quick kiss and hobbled quickly after. "What's this about the FBI?" he asked as he rounded the corner and moved out of sight.

*****

The Hardy brothers pulled up outside the agency offices and parked up – Frank was back on the red bike. In retrospect it would have been wiser to have gone to their parents' house and fetch his convertible, or swung by Joe's place to get his clunker, but they hadn't had the luxury of time.

Joe had received a briefing from his father about the car theft case and had in turn explained it to his brother as they'd headed to their motorcycles from the hospital. Frank had nodded and processed without interrupting. Now it occurred to Joe that his father wasn't expecting Frank to be with him, but that didn't matter, he knew his dad would be fine with it. Would welcome Frank with open arms, actually.

Their first task was to pick up their FBI badges before heading to the airport to meet Jack Wayne who would be flying them to River Heights to finally rendezvous with their father by the early evening at Nancy's home.

Joe noted Frank's apprehensiveness. It was only natural that he would be nervous; he'd just spent the last few weeks convinced that he was on the shelf, investigator-wise. Now he was fighting against his self-inflicted protection programming – war mongering with his own instincts.

Joe took Frank's helmet from him while he unfurled his walking stick, and headed for the building. He went straight through and strolled down the hallway, only realising Frank wasn't behind him once he turned to mount the stairs. "Dude?" He could see Frank through the door window, head down and staring at the handle, his hand presumably resting on it.

Placing the helmets on the steps, Joe returned to the door. Once nearer, he could see Frank's hand wasn't on the handle at all, it was hovering just before it and shaking slightly. Then his fingers curled up entirely and Frank spun to look up at the building across the street.

Joe pushed the door ajar and poked his head around. "What's the problem?" he asked as Frank's ashen face came round to meet his.

"I can't do it," Frank said, stepping back a few paces and putting his hand to his forehead.

"Do what?"

"Open the door."

Joe came through. "Don't be stupid, what do you mean you can't open the door?"

"Exactly what I said!" Frank snapped beginning to back off. "I gotta get away!" He looked towards his bike like it would lead him to salvation and began patting down his pockets in an endless circular pattern, getting more and more agitated as his keys eluded him.

Joe was trying to catch his eye, to calm him, his palms up, but Frank clearly wasn't thinking straight, starting to sweat, his eyes looking anywhere but at his brother, his breathing growing more and more rapid. "Where are they, where are they?" he kept repeating until finally, his arm dropped to his side, his eyes rolled back and he began swaying. His walking stick fell from his hand and hit the ground with a clatter.

Joe caught onto Frank's elbows and took a bracing half step back as his brother's weight settled on him. "I gotcha – you okay?!"

Frank gripped on in response, so tightly that he was in danger of leaving his brother with bruises. "I can't breath."

"Yes you can, that's the problem – you're breathing too well and you're hyperventilating. Sit down here for a bit, huh?" Joe gently broke Frank's painful hold and deviated him towards a low wall, feeling the weight lifting as his brother found his feet again. "Take smaller breaths, yeah? You'll pass out if you're not careful; it's an anxiety attack is all. Panicking will make it worse."

Joe went to retrieve the stick as Frank slumped down and put his head in his hands to concentrate on controlling his breathing. Joe returned and dropped down, rested a hand on his brother's shoulder and waited. "Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Frank grimaced. "God, I feel like such an idiot!"

"Not as dumb as me hiking into the building without waiting for you. What's the problem?"

"I don't know! I went to pull the door open, and I couldn't get my fingers to the handle, all I kept thinking about was that film of dad getting shot at that the Pandora Posse sent me. I thought someone was aiming at me, daring me to open it." And to illustrate the point, he looked again behind and up at the office windows opposite.

"I see. C'mon," Joe said and stood up. "You gotta face this one head on."

"You mean—?"

"—Yeah, c'mon, dude. You're goin' to open that door!" Joe pulled Frank to his feet. "Remember how I used to have a fit every time a firework went off after Iola was killed, or we had a thunderstorm, or even if a car backfired?"

Frank nodded.

"Well, I never told you this, but one night me and Chet got a-hold of a box of fireworks and Chet let the whole lot off in one of the Morton's back fields while Biff, Jerry and Tony held me down. By the time Chet was half way through, I'd quit tryin' to beat them off and screamin' and was watching them. By the end of it, I'd even exploded a couple myself."

"Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I guess we thought you'd try to stop us if you knew what we were planning, that I was going 'cold-turkey', so we kept you out of the loop. You were away on one of your courses from school and it was done by the time you came back. That's why I held a firework display off the boathouse roof when I named her _'Iola's Memory'_. So, c'mon, this is my big brother's whiz-bang moment…you're goin' to open that door. "

Joe led his brother to the front entrance and stood to one side expectantly. "Go on dude, open it."

Frank leaned on his stick and reached his hand tentatively out, but, as before, it stopped short and started tremoring.

"C'mon, Frank, you can do this, how hard can it be?"

Frank sucked in some air and shut his mouth tight, deeply concentrating before he shivered and ducked slightly as though someone had touched the back of his neck.

Joe looked at the building opposite. "There's no one looking or aiming a gun at you, so grab that handle!"

Frank's head started to shake in denial. Joe could see his nerves becoming frayed, that he was about to lose him. "I don't think—"

"—Dude, do you want me to call Biff and the gang and have them force you to do it by putting some rockets under your butt?"

That made Frank laugh, and then to his surprise, his hand naturally moved forward and his fingers curled around the handle. With a final loud breath and a flourish, he pulled the door open and limped into the hallway. "Ta daa!"

"Way to go, Frank, one step at a time, that's all it takes!" Joe slapped him on the shoulder and with a quick smile, moved ahead to get to the stairs.

Now that Frank had gotten through the door, the stairs were a cinch, even with the walking stick. Joe waited at the top and they entered the office.

Joe left his brother frozen in the doorway staring around and went to get the safe key from its hiding place. Once the safe was open, he glanced back to find that Frank had moved to his workstation and was looking down on it. "My desk?"

"What about it?"

"No one's used it."

Joe smiled and pulled the box out his father had directed him to. "That's right." He set it down on Con's desk and opened the lid.

"Why not?"

"Didn't seem right to…hot damn, you should see what's in here!" Frank approached as Joe pulled out a pair of handcuffs and one of the guns. "Bet dad was truly thrilled when he found these in here."

"And I bet Con had to talk him down," Frank said, grinning as Joe dropped them back into the box and carried on rooting through.

"A-ha, here they are," Joe muttered and extracted two wallets attached together with an elastic band. He untwined them and checked the name on the first one, which he immediately turned on Frank to shove it into his face. "Freeze punk, FBI!"

Frank laughed and took the other one from him. "I wonder where they got these photos from?"

"They're the ones we supplied for our PI licences."

"Oh yeah, that's right."

Joe slid the box back into the safe. "Let's go and put Jack out of his misery."


	27. Chapter 27

**Boosting - Chapter 27**

Nancy was meandering about Con's hospital room. She'd smoothed his bedclothes, stood and gawped out of the window and had read the headlines via her tiny phone's WAP connection – anything was preferable to doing nothing. If things didn't improve, she'd have to resort to reading that gossip magazine someone had left in the bedside drawer and she HATED gossiping.

She and Anderson had been there for an hour and the conversation had dried up after ten minutes. James didn't have much to say for himself, as secretive and private as Con. It was all painfully forced dialogue and extended silences.

Nancy hovered over Con and narrowed her eyes, willing him to awaken by the sheer supremacy of her all-powerful extrasensory mind. Nothing happened. _"Huh! So much for my psychic abilities!"_ Next, she experimented with the 'laying on of hands' to see if she had the power of healing. She rubbed her palms briskly together to 'charge them up' and ran them back-and-forth about an inch above Con's head and face, concentrating hard. Con was so singularly unimpressed he didn't even twitch.

Giving up, she moved to the foot of the bed, picked up Con's notes and scanned them – not that she could work out what those graphs and scribbles meant. It was remarkable anyone could!

What she did know was that Con's head wound had taken a ton of stitches to close up, but at least he'd been saved the worry of having to experience it. Luckily, as Nancy had pointed out to James later (if 'lucky' had been the right term to use), the tear had been along his hairline so the scarring wouldn't be noticeable, so long as didn't start going bald.

A whole gamut of x-rays had been ordered and an MRI of Con's scull, fearing a fracture, but Con had proven to be every bit as thick headed as everyone believed, and all appeared well – aside from a slight swelling at the front of his brain, which was why they thought he wasn't waking up quickly. None of the medical personnel seemed overly concerned by his continued comatose state though.

Nancy's eyes focused on something at the top of Con's chart and she practically did a comedic double-take. "Nooo…wayyy!" she breathed and covered her mouth. _"Con'd better hope that Joe doesn't find out about __that__!"_ She started laughing hard, until tears actually started to run down her cheeks!

A slight movement deadened her mirth and she immediately lost interest in her valuable find, replaced the chart and moved quickly to Con's side. His eyes attempted to open but then squeezed tightly shut. Nancy thought he'd slipped away again until his hand lifted to seek out his forehead.

"Con?" she asked, placing a restraining hand to prevent any further damage. "Yeah, I know, that hurts doesn't it? But try not to touch it. You with me?"

He groaned, and Nancy felt his forearm tendons tauten as he clenched his hand into a fist. "Dang! Did I get hit by a jack hammer?" He cracked his eyes open to squint unfocused at her. "Is that you, Drew?" he asked and made an attempt at smiling before realising his mistake and hissing. His lip was sore, butterfly strips holding the split halves together.

"What did I tell you about looking left and right before crossing the street?" she teased. "You wouldn't believe the fuss you've caused, the hospital's been heaving with cops. The staff had to insist most of them leave, they were worrying the patients!"

"Ha!" Con shut his eyes. "How long have I been here?" he asked, his eyelids sliding open again to now look at her properly.

"A few hours. We didn't find you until this morning. What happened?"

"Jumped by three men. They wanted the Ford – they were so fast. Didn't know they were there. Didn't stand a chance. Embarrassing."

"That's what we figured, but you've got nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Did they get picked up yet?"

"Long gone. But if I know Fenton Hardy the Great Detective, he'll have them rounded up by the end of the day."

Con nodded sagely. "Tell Ezra to check the hospitals for anyone with dog bites. One guy had his leg mauled, but the other guy must have extensive arm wounds. Rebel seriously took him to task."

"Good!" Nancy said. "I'll make sure Collig knows."

"Have you been here all this time?"

"Frank and Joe couldn't stay; they got a call to meet with Fenton. He has a lead on Bobbie so they've gone to River Heights."

"Frank went too?" he asked, surprised. "Why didn't you go with them?"

"And leave you here alone? No way! Friends don't do that to one another."

"So you're not entirely a bone-headed 'professional', eh?" Con turned his palm over and she dropped her hand in to receive a squeeze. "Thanks."

"It's not only me you owe a thanks to, James has been here the whole time as well. He's just gone to get coffee."

"James?…James Anderson? What's he doing here? He can't stand me."

"Aw c'mon Con, don't tell me you haven't noticed he hero-worships you?" Nancy asked with a grin.

"Get-out-of-town, Drew, the kid finds every opportunity to antagonise me."

"Well there you are, it's like the boy pulling the girl's pig-tails in the playground. It's cute. And he's looking after Rebel for you."

"Eh?" Con frowned, confused. "Wait, Rebel doesn't like strangers and doesn't come without his problems. How was Anderson able to take him?"

"What do you mean? Rebel was happy in his company. Was all over him in the back yard, even obeyed James's order to find you."

"Rebel was all over Anderson? MY Rebel? The Rebel who ripped into one of my attackers and threw him around my kitchen until he tore the guy's skin off like a glove?"

Nancy didn't understand what the problem was. "Anderson must have met Rebel before because he knew his name and the fact that he's almost deaf. And he knew these hand movements to get Rebel to do what he wanted."

Con sighed, closed his eyes and went completely still, his palm limp in hers.

Nancy thought he'd passed out again. "Con?!" she asked worriedly, shaking his hand.

He immediately looked up and retightened his grip. "Sorry Drew, was thinking, tryin' to work out if I'd brought Rebel in to work lately. I can't recall an occasion though." His hazel eyes turned serious. "Nan, James Anderson has never ever come into contact with my dog."

"Well, he knew he was an ex-police dog and that you'd adopted him."

"That was three years ago, Anderson's been with the precinct for barely twelve months. And I didn't teach Rebel those commands until after I'd adopted him. No one else knows those hand gestures."

Nancy frowned and sank onto the bed. "Then how does…oh no, do you think he's another rogue cop?" But her head shook almost as soon as the theory was past her lips. "No, that doesn't sit right, I like James, he's helped us out a lot. He was so worried when we found you, white as a sheet, no way he could have faked that. And he was the one who took out Rodden during the Pandora case, why would he do that if Rodden was one of his team-mates?"

"Maybe that was the point, maybe Rodden wasn't one of his compadres, maybe they were rivals, maybe Anderson was happy for the opportunity to bash him!" Con was growing frantic. "Where is he?" he asked, and started sitting up, grimacing at the pain in his back.

Nancy gently pushed him and Con put up a weak attempt at fighting, his arms encircling and bringing her down with him. If someone had walked in at that moment, they'd have been forgiven in assuming it was a lover's embrace. "Don't you dare get up!" she ordered, her face so close she could clearly see the myriad of surgical stitches to his head though the bandages. She met his intense gaze with the same strength of resolve.

"I don't want him to hurt you, Nancy – look how dangerous that gang was who went after Frank, what if he's one of them?"

"Then I'll deal with it, I'll—"

Con didn't let her finish. "—No, it's a mans job to protect."

"Do you want another lessen in underestimating the fairer sex?" she asked and pointed a wagging finger into his face. "Do you want me to get Vanessa in here in a short dress and high heels?"

"That's not an entirely unpleasant offer—" Con deadpanned.

"Con!!! That's not what I meant and you know it. Do you want me to tell Joe what you just said?"

"Please don't do that—"

"Well then, listen to me. Carry on pretending to be unconscious in case James returns before I can get back. I'm going to track down one of the other officers. In fact, I'll see if Collig is still—"

And then they were locking identically horrified eyes as the door handle dropped.

"Too late!" Nancy whispered. "Play dead!" She jumped from the bed and threw herself into the seat, grabbing the magazine along the way.

Anderson shouldered his way into the room. Moving slowly and carefully in order not to spill a drop of the hot drinks he was carrying.

Nancy looked at the open magazine and realised it was upside down. She discarded it nonchalantly to one side, hoping Anderson hadn't noticed.

He hadn't. "Can't vouch for the taste of this coffee – came out of a vending machine," Anderson said and directed his chin towards Con's still form. "Any change?"

Nancy got up and approached him as if to take one of the cups, patting Con's hand as she passed. "No, he's not moved at all. She started reaching allowing her gaze to travel and fix onto Anderson's shoulder before opening her eyes wide into a horrified expression. "James, stand still, don't move!"

"What? What is it?" he asked, alarmed trying to see what she was seeing.

"I said don't move!" she chided and stepped around behind. Because he had both hands full, he didn't have much choice but to obey lest he tip it all down himself. She made a lunge for his gun holster, ripping and unclipping and drew out his weapon, so fast he barely registered what was happening until it was done. She raised it and stepped back. "Now, I really mean, don't move!"

Anderson gaped. "What are you…Nancy, have you gone mucho ga-ga?"

"No she's hasn't," Con said from his bed, making Anderson jump.

The scalding liquid spilled and ran down James's fingers. "Yowch!" he yelled. "I dunno what your problem is, Nancy, but may I at least put the cups down."

"Don't do it, Nancy!" Con called, finding the bed remote and starting to raise the head end.

"No you may not!" Nancy said. "When I said _'don't move'_ I meant it." Then she regretted not letting him as she didn't fancy a face full of boiling hot magma.

"What's goin' on?" Anderson asked. "I don't get it."

"I think it's us that hasn't been _'getting it'_," Con said. "Who do you work for? The Network is it?"

"Huh? What are you talking about—?"

"—C'mon Anderson, the games up. You've been prying into my life, you know a little too much about it for someone who's only been in the picture for twelve months, even down to what hand gestures I use with my deaf dog. You've been bobbing up into the picture too much for it to be a coincidence. I thought it was Collig volunteering you, but it wasn't, was it? You made sure you were there to jump in when he needed a volunteer. You've been riding my shirttails for months and it's all a little bit weird and suspicious."

Anderson grimaced. "Okay, okay…I'll tell you, it's all completely innocent. Given the circumstances, I was gonna tell you today anyway. But let me put these cups down, they're burning my fingers!"

Nancy acquiesced and motioned for him to put them on the floor, taking the safety off with her thumb at the same time. Anderson did so quickly, against the wall, and then stood again with his palms out. "Explain," she said. "And make it good because I'm a hair's breath away from contacting Collig and having him haul you away! The only reason I haven't is because of the good things you've done."

"Okay. I need to get something from my pocket – be cool!" Anderson ever so carefully pulled the one side of his jacket wide so Nancy could see what he was doing.

Nancy raised an eyebrow and cocked the gun as his fingertips went into one of the inside pockets. "Don't try anything stupid."

"I understand." James slid whatever it was out and held it up. "See, only my wallet. Take it easy, it wouldn't take much for that gun to go off, the trigger is real sensitive."

"Well don't do anything stupid then!" Nancy said.

"C'mon Anderson, quit stalling – what's the story?" Con asked.

Anderson turned and tossed the wallet towards Con's bed as if for him to catch it. The ex-Lieutenant didn't try to catch it, if anything; he tried to move away, cringing with the effort. It landed with a dull thud next to him.

Nancy immediately went after Anderson aggressively. "That was the kind of 'stupid' I was talking about!" she shouted. "Turn around and put your palms up on the wall!" She yanked him physically around and he did as ordered, apologising the entire time. "Higher than that James, above your head!"

"Nancy, I didn't mean to give X-L a scare, I need him to look at something in the zipper compartment!"

"Shut your trap!" She rammed her forearm into the small of his back so he fell into the wall and kicked his legs wide. "You don't get to talk to Con again!" she shouted and grabbed onto the rear of Anderson's collar before jamming her elbow hard into his spine with the same arm as a make sure. "You okay, Con?" Nancy asked, pressing the gun home. No response, so she jerked her head around, hair wild, to find Con had emptied the contents of the wallet out and was holding up a couple of documents, one a photograph. He was staring mesmerised. "Con?" Nancy prompted.

Con lowered his hands and gaped back at her, stunned. "Let him, go, Nancy."

"What?"

"Let him go. He's not a rogue cop. He's not even James Anderson…well, he is now, but he was born James Riley, before he changed his surname."

"What?"

"He's my nephew, Nancy, my brother's boy."

Nancy's mouth dropped open and she turned to look at James and obeyed by stepping back and letting her prisoner away from the wall.

"And by the way, Drew," Con said, "You were right, I've been underestimating you because you're a woman and I owe you a big apology. When I get out of here, there's a meal on me for you and Frank. That was a fine bit of work."

"Thanks," Nancy muttered, reddening.

James turned and locked onto Con and they both gazed at one another.

Nancy looked comparably from James, to Con, and then back again. _Why hadn't she seen it before? It was __so__ obvious!_ They looked fairly alike – both having the same hazel eyes and hair color, although Con was taller and broader and, of course, older. But it wasn't only that: their personalities were similar, the way they both were so great in an emergency…but bodily so awkward, and the way they were so protective of her. Even how private they both were, giving nothing away. Most importantly, the way Rebel had been so accepting. Animals always had a way of sensing these things.

"I'm sorry James," Nancy said, deactivating the gun and offering it back. James didn't even look at her, let alone take his side arm; he only had eyes for his uncle. So Nancy slipped the gun into the holster for him.

"I haven't seen you since you were five years old," Con said finally. "Little Jimmy Riley, eh? Only not so little any more."

"I haven't been 'Little Jimmy' for a long time. You were the only one who ever called me that." James dropped his chin slightly. "Technically you've been seeing me for the last year, but not seeing me."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I had to be sure of you. My head's been filled for years with stories about what a betraying scumbag you are, and I didn't trust you…even though I know the family are a bunch of…well, you know?"

"Yeah, I know only to well. How are the family, still operating on the wrong side of the law?" Con's tone was bitter.

"What do you think?" James asked, acrimony clear in his voice too. "I haven't laid eyes on any of them for three years. They reacted about as well when I told them I was entering the force as they did you. It was after that I started to suspect they'd been feeding me a load of crappola about you, so I decided to find out for myself and got in at Bayport after I qualified."

"And?"

James grinned. "It was a load of crappola."

"What about Rebel?"

James's smile grew wider. "I learned the hand signals by watching you both in the park. Rebel got so used to me hanging around that he'd seek me out, and we developed this game where I'd throw his ball at you from the trees and he'd go after it."

"Was that you? I thought it was kids playing games!"

James laughed. "Nah, it was me, Rebel thought it was great getting us to chuck that ball to one another."

"You've got quite the throwing arm!" Con attempted a smile of his own and indicated to the seat, watching James in fascination as he approached. "Tell me about yourself. The last time I saw you, you didn't even come up to my knee. It was the day I walked out the door for the final time."

"I remember. I remember the shouting and having to hide. And I remember that I didn't want you to go—"

Nancy backed towards the exit, "Erm…I gotta go…do something…I'll…take this though." She dipped to pick up one of the coffees before opening the door to tactfully leave them to it as James reached to take hold of his uncle's proffered palm. Once the door had shut, she muttered. "Oh…my…God!" and snatched for her cell to phone Vanessa.

"_Hi Nan."_

"Wait till you hear this gossip, it's the gossip of the year!!!" she blurted out.

"_What…__what__?"_

"_We can still hear you!" _shouted two male voices from the hospital room.

"Oops!"


	28. Chapter 28

**Boosting - Chapter 28**

Joe drew his hire car onto the Drew's driveway, Frank in the passenger seat.

The journey had gone without a hitch with Jack Wayne getting them into the air within ten minutes of them being strapped in. He'd even persuaded Frank to co-pilot, even though Frank had gazed doubtfully at the controls.

Joe had smiled, watching Frank eventually thoroughly enjoying himself having been allowed to take control and fly them most of the way. Jack wasn't a stupid man; he'd sensed immediately that it wasn't only Frank's body that had taken a battering, but also his confidence. He was doing his bit to help and at one point even looked back over his shoulder at Joe and winked.

As soon as they were stepping from the car, a red-headed woman came out with her arms outstretched. "You're finally here – I was only expecting one of you. What a lovely surprise!" And she was wrapping them in a warm communal hug and giving pecks to the cheeks.

"Hello Hannah, this is Joe…my brother." Frank said proudly and hung an arm loosely about Joe's shoulders.

"Of course he is." She turned her green eyes onto Joe. "And what a handsome boy you are, almost as handsome as your brother. But then I'm biased as he holds our precious Nancy's heart!"

Joe laughed at Frank's reddening face. "And he's holding on tightly!"

"What a lucky woman I've been this week, three strapping young men in my home? I've been spoiled rotten." Hannah stared at Frank. "You look better."

"I wish!" Frank's eyes dropped as he toyed with his walking stick. "Knees butchered and I've lost so much weight. I'm fraying away at the seams."

She slipped her arm about Frank's waist and turned to Joe. "You look a strong boy. Would you do a job for me? There's a pile of document boxes at the bottom of the stairs that need to go into Carson's office. I keep tripping over them, but they're too heavy for me. Would you mind taking them up?"

"I'm on it," Joe said and entered the house. He heard Hannah say for Frank to accompany her to the kitchen as she was making them a hot chocolate.

Hannah hadn't exaggerated, those boxes took quite some manoeuvring to get them up the stairs, but Joe was soon done and seeking Hannah and Frank out. He found the kitchen and walked in on his brother leaning up against the counter in close conversation with Hannah. In one hand were her spectacles, which she held just in front of her face while the fingers of her other hand traced Frank's scars. He was nodding and smiling slightly, and then she muttered something that really made him laugh out loud!

Joe cocked a brow, it seemed Hannah was giving a pep talk, and it was working. "Did I hear someone say something about hot chocolate?"

"You did," Hannah said, dropping her glasses self-consciously and passed a steaming mug across. "Now, Joe, your father has left some instructions—"

"—'left'?"

"Yes, he headed out just after you called. He didn't want to waste the whole day and was going to have a look around—."

"—'A look around'?"

"Yes, around the haulage companies—"

"—'Haulage companies'?"

"Joe Hardy, are you going to simply repeat back everything I'm saying?" Hannah asked. "Fenton was of the opinion that he'd spent quite enough time in bed with his head injury—"

"—head injury?" both brother's asked simultaneously.

"Hannah…we don't know what you're talking about!" Frank said.

"—'Don't know what I'm talking about'?" Hannah nudged Joe. "Now I'm doing it!" she laughed. "Hard to believe no one told you – Carson came home unexpectantly a couple of nights ago and came across Fenton in the house and hit him on the head. It made your father a little wobbly for a while."

They both stared back aghast.

"Don't look so worried boys, he's fine. Was given a clean bill of health."

"So he's gone without waiting for me?" Joe asked.

Hannah nodded.

"He did take someone with him though? Mr Drew perhaps?"

"No, Carson had to return to work this morning."

Joe rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and made a throaty noise.

"You did tell dad how badly hurt Con was, didn't you, Bro?" Frank asked. "You made him understand?"

"Yeah, I told him to wait." Joe sighed, "but you know dad, he's probably stressing over that Bobbie chick and has gone off half-cocked."

"I wonder who else is often guilty of that?" Frank muttered teasingly.

Joe returned a clowning, withered look. "Takes one to know one."

Hannah cut in. "Fenton did say he was worried about Bobbie – without the 'chick' part. Said he didn't want to waste time."

Frank extracted his phone and dialled his father's number. After a few seconds he cast a troubled look. "No answer – voice mail is kicking in...Dad, it's Frank, why is your phone turned off? Call me, urgently, yeah? Let me know you're okay. We're in River Heights." He hung up. "Where did he go, Hannah?"

*****

Nancy carefully opened the hospital room door and looked in to find James still by Con's bed, reading that gossip magazine and shaking his head at its shallow contents. He looked up and motioned with it for her to enter.

Con was asleep, snoring gently.

"Where did you go, Nancy? Con was asking after you."

"Went back to work. I thought I'd leave you to get caught up. It's not often a long-lost relative suddenly pops up into your life." She grinned. "Got any more little surprises hidden up your sleeve, James? That was a bit of a shocker!"

James laughed. "Not as much of a shock as it was for Con. I should have had the balls to tell him before, but then when I made my mind up to come clean, he went and joined the Hardy crew. I'm such a wimp, I couldn't do it!"

"How are you going to tell everyone else?"

He threw his hands up. "I dunno. I'm doomed! The boys at the precinct will never let me live it down. I'll have to resign!"

Nancy stood over Con. The bruising to his face and arms was starting to develop into an array of bright colors.

"He's really stiffened up too," James confirmed. "Sore."

Nancy wrinkled her nose in sympathy. "I'm jinxed, every man I work with ends up looking like this, and always because they're either being chivalrous or protective, helping me. And they wonder why I prefer to work alone. At least that way I'm only putting one person at risk, not obligating anyone else."

"It's nothing to do with you Nancy. Con knows the risks as much as the rest of us. It was just his turn. It was coincidence that you were working with him and blind bad luck it happened on his first case with Mr Hardy. In fact, you weren't there, it was me. I should have been vigilant, should have noticed he was being trailed. After all, I'd become such an expert at it myself."

"That's crazy talk. If Con didn't notice he was being followed, with all his years of experience, you weren't going to." Nancy looked James up and down. "You do realise the hole you've stepped into, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've unintentionally expanded your family. Con is an honorary member of the Hardy household and has been Fenton's best friend for so long that I bet Frank and Joe don't remember him not being around. From what I've seen, he might as well be their uncle too."

"They'd be an improvement on my own family," he admitted.

"In fact," Nancy said, moving closer and dropping her volume, "Frank told me that his mom and Con dated in college, before her and Fenton. That's how all three of them eventually met."

Surprised eyebrows shot up and fresh eyes slid towards Con's still form. "Obviously there's a lot of stuff I don't know about my Uncle Con!" James muttered. "Skeleton's rattling in his closets...I could tell you stories about Con Riley that would make your head spin," he said conspiratorially.

"While we're on the subject of Con history, you might be able to confirm something." Nancy unhooked his notes and turned them towards James. She pointed to the top of the paperwork. "Is that a misprint?"

He leaned to see what Nancy's finger was tapping against. "Uh…no it isn't. I dread to think what you're goin' to do with that piece of insider knowledge!"

"Nothing at the moment, but it's stored up here." She pointed at her head. "Don't tell him I know – but what were his parents thinking by naming him Constantine?"

"My grandparents were heavily into the Romans, but that's not the worse of it; My dad got lumbered with Claudius. At least Con's able to shorten his."

"Constantine and Claudius? Con and Claud?" Nancy's face slowly broke out into a brutal smile.

"You're a cruel woman."

"Con's every bit a wind-up merchant, so any bit of weaponry is useful."

"You're a cruel woman," James repeated and leaned back. "I won't let on that you know," he promised.

"Thanks." She returned the notes to its hook. "It's a shame Emperor Constantine's asleep, because I've received some news about the case that's blown it wide open. The DMV has figured out how the stolen convertible's documents seemed so authentic…it's because they were authentic."

Anderson frowned. "How can that be right?"

"A member of the gang has been working within the DMV, in data-processing and this person was the brains behind the entire operation. They would wait until a car was written off – either through an accident, or, as in the case of the vintage cars, through age, and then the gang would be instructed on the type and make of car to go after – even providing addresses of victims. When the vehicle was procured, all the car's info was transferred onto the data-log and given a new identity. The only things that then had to be changed physically were the cars' plate numbers and maybe the color – in the convertible's case, it was re-sprayed racing green."

"So, technically, Frank's car is now registered as two entirely legal cars?"

"Precisely! Everything appears above board and legal. Cheap operation too, no need for complicated mechanical alterations. They must have made literally hundreds of thousands of dollars - profit all the way!"

"Genius!"

"Yep, and hard to pin down – at least until the DMV had the documents for the Ford Fairlane as well. They were able to identify the operator responsible and she was arrested this afternoon."

"She?"

"Don't start!"

Anderson laughed, chastened. "Is she talking?"

"That's the bad news, no. But the DMV is confident it can backtrack on all the stolen cars by reviewing the woman's PC log over the time the cars were taken. They will drill down on the cars' chassis numbers to find any double entries. There's going to be a lot of relieved car owners, but disappointed buyers."

"What about the rest of the gang, and Bobbie Shandley?"

"No news, although the woman's husband has fled and believe it or not they lived in River Heights, my hometown and where Fenton is at the moment. I just spoke to Frank and they believe Fenton has a solid lead on Bobbie's whereabouts." She stopped and chewed her lip. "Apparently, it was so rock-solid that he went off alone to investigate and they can't raise him by phone."

Anderson grimaced and looked towards his uncle's battered sleeping body.

"Yes I know," Nancy said, reading his mind. "Worrying, much?"

*****

While Frank was somewhere between Bayport and River Heights, flying Joe and Jack Wayne, Fenton was in his car opposite a small and ordinary looking office building, his car largely obscured between two huge export containers and eating a, quite frankly, outstanding sandwich that Hannah had rustled up before he'd left the Drew's residence.

Fenton was bored, his mind drifting back to just before he'd left Carson's home…

_After speaking to Joe, Fenton raised concerned eyes to Hannah Gruen. "My partner's in the hospital, he was attacked at home."_

"_Oh dear!"_

"_Nancy believes the attack's connected to the case. Con had procured one of the stolen vehicles and whoever assaulted him may have been trying to get it back. If that's the case, they now know that he was investigating them."_

"_Is the poor man all right?"_

_Fenton started plucking his eyebrow, a faraway look on his face. "Banged up enough to need a stay in hospital. Hasn't regained consciousness yet."_

"_Then it's good Joe is coming to help. You don't want to go out there alone."_

"_Yes…__No__! Actually, all the more reason to get out there—" Hannah opened her mouth to protest, but Fenton dropped his hand to hover a silencing palm. "—If the gang believe we're closing in on them, and I hold back, they might move Bobbie and then we'll have a hell of job finding her. I need to go_ _now."_

"_I think you should wait. I'm frightened for you."_

"_I can't afford to. I need to prevent them from using Bobbie for collateral damage or worse." Fenton went into the hall and lifted his jacket down. "I'm not going to do anything rash. I'm just going to do some surveillance while Joe's on his way. When he gets here, send him after me."_

_Hannah gently took his arm. "At least take some sandwiches. It'll take me seconds to make them."…_

There was movement from within the office building. Two men came out and began a conversation while stacking up boxes. Fenton put down his half eaten sandwich and slapped half of his listening device onto the top of the car through the window, the magnetic strip on the back of the amplifier ensuring it would stay put. He pushed the receiver to his ear and settled back with his arms folded to eavesdrop.

Apparently a truck was on its way to pick up the boxes and the men were planning on how to load them and were talking about timescales. Given it seemed such an uninspiring chat, Fenton picked up his sandwich and carried on eating and thinking…

_Upon arriving at the area that Bobbie's map suggested was the heart of the operation, his heart sank. It was a __huge__. Just how he was going to narrow down the search for the missing teen was mind blowing. All he could do at this point was drive up and down, keep his wits about him, trust his intuition._

_He began passing literally hundreds and hundreds of export containers, all piled one on top another into high blocks, creating a mini skyscraper city with its own road system. The metal containers were of the type that creative, new age people have decided are big enough to bolt together and mould into weird little dwellings. Fenton considered that a little too much like camping. He valued the comfort and familiarity of bricks, mortar and wood, surrounding and pillowing him and his family than cold, impersonal corrugated steel. _

_He had a thought…export containers? Now what could you hide in one of those? They were big enough to store two cars at a time; maybe even three, and no one would have a clue that they were there. So Fenton started driving even slower with his window down and his head out watching the ground moving beneath. _

_He passed many more containers and dumpsters before he hit 'pay dirt' and came across some car tire markings etched deeply into recently dried mud – in fact, if it wasn't for the fact there'd been obviously four wheels, he would have assumed they were left by a motorcycle as the ruts were so narrow. _

_Encouraged, he exited and proceeded on foot, following the tracks until they stopped outside one of those massive crates. The marks implied that the vehicle had been turned, straightened up, and then driven inside. Fenton stepped close and found the doors were padlocked – not that a lock was ever going to stop Fenton Hardy from being nosy...this was the man who'd taught his kids all that they knew. He made their knowledge of lock picking look amateurish by comparison! _

_Fenton fetched his equipment from his car and went to work on the lock. It gave up quickly and came open in his hand. He pulled the double doors wide…and inside? What could only be described as the most beautiful yellow car he'd ever laid eyes on and one that was clearly so old it was probably drawing a pension!_


	29. Chapter 29

**Boosting - Chapter 29**

_Fenton whistled appreciatively, cast a look around to check he wasn't being observed and stepped inside the open container to have a closer look at the yellow car – a car that wouldn't have looked out of place in a museum. _

_It was so gorgeous he refused himself permission to touch lest he break the spell, happy to look through the windows and admire its sunny elegance. He was pretty sure it was a Dodge Brother's touring car, though the year of manufacture was anyone's guess. _

"_I'll be back for you later, Queenie," he said and tongue clicked lasciviously before exiting. He shut the doors and put the padlock on again so that if anyone came along, they wouldn't know of his discovery._

_Now he'd confirmed where the gang were storing the cars, it was time to broaden his search and locate their base of operations. He returned to his disappointing rental and, by taking a circular route from the container, worked his way outwards until he came across the tiny office building; conspicuous in comparison to the other larger buildings he'd already seen. _

_That was when he'd sandwiched his car between two containers, largely out of sight and far enough away so not to be noticed, and waited._

_An hour or so later, his assumption was rewarded when the door was propped open and two men began carrying and dragging boxes outside to stack them up haphazardly and urgently…odd behaviour for an export business, especially on a Sunday! If Fenton had been a betting man, he'd have wagered that they were closing up shop!..._

Fenton was yanked back to the present by the arrival of the talked about truck, which drew to a halt outside the building. Its air brakes loudly hissed and nearly burst Fenton's eardrum through his earpiece. He yanked it out to replace it with a finger. "Yowch!" he muttered, wiggling and pulling on his lobe.

Three men jumped down from the cab. Two of them joined the men at the front of the building and the remaining man moved to the rear and opened the back door. On board were a further three men, two of whom the worse for wear – one had a black eye, a swollen nose, and a prominent limp (he had to sit down and slide off the back rather than jump), the other man's injury was to his arm, which was trussed up in a sling and clumsily bandaged.

"A-ha!" Fenton muttered. "Did you two have a tussle with a certain ex-police dog and a certain ex-police lieutenant?"

Checking his watch, Fenton did a calculation. Even with a trip to a hospital – which was doubtful, judging by the questionably applied dressings – they would have had time to get from Bayport by road to River Heights if they'd travelled through the night.

All eight men came together into a huddle to talk, so Fenton popped his earpiece back in to snoop. Unfortunately, the truck's engine was still running so he was missing chunks of what was being said, but enough was cutting through, especially when they became argumentative.

"_If you're not goin' to do it…one of us has to….we can't take her with us!"_ one shouted suddenly, making Fenton sit up straighter.

"_You're not touching her…your brains!…better for us alive than dead…bargaining chip if need be…game, this is murder you're talking about!"_

The man who'd shouted first took a spin and stormed about before turning back to the man he was arguing with.

"_Is she still in the container?"_

"_Yes, but I'm not...boxes on the back of the truck…I'll then get her." _He made a hand gesture, which Fenton didn't catch and the other man backed down throwing his hands up. The man went to the nearest box, picked it up and frustratingly slung it onto the back of the truck. The others joined in except for Limpy and One-arm.

Fenton took the earpiece out and removed the amplifier, shoving the whole lot into the glove box. He twisted and looked through his rear window, wishing to see Joe arriving but knowing that it was too soon. So he sat forward again and considered his options with his palms lightly resting on the wheel.

A wise man would have waited for back up, but from the way the gang had been talking; at least one of them didn't want the problem of Bobbie Shandley. Although the supposed leader had talked him down, there was no guarantee the impasse would last. No, Fenton had to find the girl and get her out.

So, keeping one eye on the preoccupied men, Fenton ever so carefully opened his door and, keeping low, slid out – none of the gang so much as glanced in his direction. Fenton put his shoulder against the door and eased it shut, barely making a noise. He took off running on the balls of his feet and made his way behind the containers until he was far enough along as to not be overlooked or overheard. Weaving his way between, he backtracked until he came to the crate that housed the Dodge car.

Fenton theorised that if the man had imprisoned Bobbie in one of the containers, than it wouldn't be too far from the Dodge, and because of the recent rains, he hoped her whereabouts would be betrayed by footprints. Standing in front of the crate he'd already opened, he cast his eyes along the ground, first right, and then left. Frowning, he could see something uneven between the containers across the other side so headed in that direction.

There he found a batch of well-defined footprints that had been trooping backwards and forwards. Most had obviously been made by larger and heavier male feet, but mixed in amongst them were much smaller, daintier ones – unmistakably feminine. They all carried on around to the front of the storage container, a container with one of those large padlocks on it.

Fenton went straight to it and extracted his lock picking equipment from his back pocket. Before he started work, he pushed his ear to the doors and listened attentively. At first he detected nothing, but suddenly there was a sliding noise and the door moved slightly against his face. Then, a soft girlie voice said: _"Who's that?"_

Fenton's jerked back. Although he'd half expected someone to be there, he still jumped. He collected himself and leaned in again. "Bobbie Shandley?"

There was silence for a time, and then a shaky voice said. _"Yes, are you here to help me? Say you are because I don't think I could stand it if you're not. I want to go home!"_

Fenton smiled. "I've come to take you home. It's Fenton Hardy – you know who I am, I think?"

"_Fenton Hardy? __Really__!?"_

Fenton laughed. "Yes, really." He started work on the lock. "Give me five minutes, sweetheart, and I'll have you out of there."

"_Okay."_

The padlock was tougher in comparison to the first, but it eventually gave way in Fenton's dexterous hands. He pulled it from its hasp and jerked the doors wide to find a tiny girl with her hands over her eyes. At the back of the interior there was a small camp bed with mussed bedclothes where she's obviously been sleeping.

"What are you doing?" Fenton asked. "You can look at me you know, I'm not that intimidating!"

"It's not that, Mr Hardy. Sunlight, when you've been in the dark for so long hurts!"

"And you can stop calling me 'Mr Hardy', my name's Fenton." He took a step forward until one leg was inside the container and took her gently by the elbow. "I don't want to rush you, Bobbie, but we need to move."

Bobbie dropped her hands to squint up at him. "I can't think of anything I'd rather be—" and then she was gasping and shouting, "LOOK OUT!" But it was too late to take evasive action. Fenton took a hefty push to the back, tripped over the doorway and lurched into Bobbie, falling and bowling her over.

The box was pitched into total darkness as the doors were shut with a deafening roar. It made Fenton's head ring, it was as though he and the girl were inside a bell and someone had just swung a metal stick against the side.

Fenton felt hugely stupid at that moment. Bobbie was so little that he should have just picked her up and run…should have fled and lost them both within Container City – too much time had been spent being friendly and gentle. Now they were in a fine ol' pickle!

*****

"Dude – look at how vast this place is!" Joe complained. "How are we supposed to track down and connect with dad?"

"By finding his car. It's Sunday, there can't be many businesses open today, there won't be many around. Keep your eyes peeled for a blue sedan."

Joe drove around, the brothers looking left and right and craning their necks. "I still can't believe he went off on his own," Joe muttered. "He's always drumming into us the importance of backup."

"He's worried about Bobbie. We'd have done the exact same thing, bro."

Joe made an "umm" noise. Frank had made a fair point. No matter how much they advised each other not to step off into the abyss, when the wind was blowing in the right – or in this case the wrong – direction, they always did, and they went en-mass! _"Freakin' lemmings!"_ Even when doing things by the book, like Con had, trouble still came a-knockin'. "Perhaps it's time to review things, set down some ground-rules that we can agree to abide by? It might stop us gettin' into so many rumbles," Joe suggested.

They slowly turned and regarded one another before bursting into a loud round of belly laughing.

"What…ever!" Frank said with a touch of incredulous sarcasm.

Joe braked with a jolt. "Frank is that…is that the dad's car?" He pointed into the distance. "It looks like someone's driving it into one of those large box, shed things."

"They're called cargo containers." Frank said, delving into his pockets.

"I can't tell for sure that's dad's car, it's impossible to read the plate. We'll have to get closer and—" Joe turned to his brother and what he saw pulled him up short, "—Frank, you are, without doubt, the biggest dork I ever met!"

Frank had produced a tiny telescope from somewhere and had it to his eye directing it at the car in the distance, looking to Joe like a confused jewellery valuer.

Frank didn't flinch, simply shrugged. "I saw it-liked it-bought it. And I'm now justifying my purchase. Jealousy is such an ugly trait, bro." He focused the tiny instrument with his middle finger. "Yep, it's dad's rental, but that's not dad driving it."

"Is dad there at all?"

Frank observed for a while longer and panned about. "Not that I can see."

"Let me have a look."

"Are you sure? You don't want to appear nerd-like—"

"—Just give it here." Joe snatched the eyepiece and put it to his eye. "This is cool, actually."

"How quickly the tide turns! There's a fine line between dork and genius and I daintily trip between the two."

"Where is he? What's that guy doing with dad's car?" Joe returned the telescope and watched until the man closed the doors on the container and started to walk away. Immediately, the brothers exited to follow on foot – or in Frank's case, on foot and with stick.

Reaching the crate first, Joe turned, "Frank, follow that guy, I'm goin' to have a look at the car. Be careful though, yeah? I'll be quick."

Frank limped away in the direction the man had gone while Joe quickly cranked up the handle and swung the doors open. He entered and looked inside the car, which was unlocked, and then popped the trunk. Running to the back, he pushed it open…his father wasn't inside. Joe wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but he couldn't stop to analyse those thoughts as he didn't want to leave Frank on his own for any length of time. He quickly left, shut the door and raced after his older brother.

As he rounded a bend, he found Frank had hidden himself against the side of a tall dumpster which was piled high with cardboard and boxes. Frank was looking back with a finger on his lips, so Joe slowed right down and proceeded carefully until he was close enough for Frank to pull him in close.

"That was quick," Frank observed in a low tone. "Find anything?"

"No, the car was empty. Looks like the guy was just hiding it – which doesn't answer the question of where dad's gone. What's the guy doing?"

"Take a look for yourself."

Joe crept tentatively forward and took a peek around the edge of the box, Frank joining him. Their quarry had met with another man, both standing and looking in the opposite direction. Joe couldn't see what they were watching, but did note that the man he'd joined had an arm in a sling. The men began to turn, so the brothers quickly pulled their heads in again. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, dude?"

"About the arm injury?"

Joe nodded.

"If what you are thinking about involves a dog, then yeah, I think I am."

The men started talking so they stopped to listen.

"_Andy was plenty mad, wasn't he?"_

"_Even madder now that guy turned up and nearly freed the girl. If Pete had dealt with the situation in the first place none of this would be happening. We'd have been packed up and gone. He's gone soft."_

"_Do you think the guy's something to do with the FBI?"_

"_Stands to reason, don't it? Andy wants to deal with the problem head on, but Pete's dragging his heels. C'mon, let's go and see what's happening."_

The brother's listened to the sounds of the men's voices receding, running footsteps going away from them.

"Crap!" Joe muttered.

"We need to get dad out of there, bro!"

"Crap!" Joe uttered again and glanced up and down at Frank before looking back around the dumpster. "Frank, you need to be quiet."

"I agree—"

Joe turned to face Frank square on. "—No, I don't think you understand, I need you to be silent."

"I don't—"

"­—How much do you weigh now?"

"What? I dunno, 170 pounds maybe, why do—?"

Joe could see Frank growing confused by his strange questioning, but he wasn't going to let up. "—But you're gonna be quiet though?"

"That's what we just agreed, Joe, but you're not—"

And then Joe made a swift move, reached out with one hand and grabbed Frank's jacket front, the other latching onto his belt buckle. Before Frank could counter his actions, Joe rapidly yanked him forward and then with a knee dip, hoisted him cleanly into the air and over his head.

_Finally__, being able to bench press more than his own body weight was serving a much more useful purpose than simply providing eye candy for the girls, it was enabling Joe Hardy the opportunity to create the sport of 'Sibling Throwing'!_

Joe realised ruefully that his brother really had lost weight and in actual fact wasn't anywhere near the 170 pounds he thought he was. Frank needed to eat some food and lots of it. Joe turned, bent his arms and purged himself of the Frankster by brusquely tossing him over the lip of the dumpster.

As anticipated, the cardboard squashed down, cushioned and deadened Frank's landing. Joe got up onto his tiptoes and looked over, just in time to watch his brother roll and slip between the cardboard, the sheets swallowing him up, the only part left visible being a hand still gripping the chrome walking stick.

As grossly unfair as it probably seemed to Frank, Joe felt just as stalwartly that his brother wasn't physically ready for this sort of action. He didn't want to be faced with having to keep one eye on him while getting his father out of a sticky situation. He needed to be able to concentrate fully.

Ever since Hannah had told them his father had gone off to find Bobbie alone, Joe'd had a bad feeling and wished he'd had the strength of mind to leave Frank behind with Nancy, but as usual, he'd tripped himself up by placing his heart before his head. Once again, the potency and lure of tempting Frank back to work had proven too compelling to ignore.

_He made a note to work on that Achilles' heel in future. _

"Later, Dude," he promised over the top of his brother's struggling, hissing protestations from deep within the metal dumpster. Joe took off in the direction that the men had gone in.


	30. Chapter 30

**Boosting - Chapter 30**

As soon as their container prison door had been slammed shut, Fenton climbed back to his feet. "Are you okay, honey?" he asked Bobbie, concerned he'd hurt her.

"No – I thought I was going home!" she said sardonically and allowed him to pull her upright again. "I'm never going to get out of here, am I?"

"Yes you will." Fenton promised and turned around trying to get his bearings. "I can't see a damn thing!"

"Welcome to my world. I'm at the stage where I don't even know if my eyes are open or closed." She walked away, footsteps receding until the camp bed squeaked as she sat.

"I've got my cell, so it's just a case of calling for help." Fenton lifted his phone to look at the screen. "Darn! No signal, must be because we're in a metal box." He put his hand out and turned to move towards where he thought the door was, but came into contact with a wall. So he shuffled sideways until he reached a corner. He remembered doing something similar at Carson Drew's house…that didn't turn out so well either. Now at the door, he pushed his phone closer and tried again, waving it about. "Still nothing." He sighed, put his cell away and started feeling and sliding his fingers down the central join.

"You're wasting your time," Bobbie said, eventually. "If you're trying to open the door you won't be able to. I've explored this box from top to bottom and there's no way out except through that door. The only person who opens it is Pete and he only comes twice a day – in the morning to let me out for a shower and bathroom visit, and then later to bring food and let me use the bathroom again. And he always has other men with him as escorts.

Fenton banged on the door and shouted, "Hey, open up!"

"Tried that too. Screamed myself hoarse and scraped my fists raw the first two days. No one hears...or no one cares."

"Dammit!" Fenton began making his way towards Bobbie's voice, intending to join her on the camp bed. There was clearly no point trying to break out if she hadn't managed it. He nearly jumped out of his skin when her fingers suddenly touched his chest after he'd taken only a few steps.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." Bobbie tentatively took his hands to lead him. "I'm used to the dimensions of this place, but it's so disorientating at first. Mind you don't trip, camp-bed's right in front of you."

Fenton felt the bed against his shins and was turned around. He sat and Bobbie did the same, her shoulder barely reaching his chest and drew her knees up under her chin. She was putting a brave face on things, but Fenton could sense she was badly frightened so he cautiously put an arm about her shoulders and she leaned against him. "How did you end up here, Bobbie?"

"Did my parents send you after me?"

"Yes. We were hired to come and look for you and the missing cars."

"How are ma and pa?" Bobbie asked. She was crying, quietly, so as to hide her emotions.

Fenton pretended not to have noticed. "Worried and fearing the worst. But I told them I'd find you and bring you home, and I will."

She grew quiet for a long time, lost in her own thoughts and Fenton didn't push further. Eventually she asked, "How did you find me, Mr…Fenton?"

Fenton swallowed and grimaced. "In your bedroom, I found your notebook under the floorboard—" he gave her shoulder a squeeze.

Bobbie made a noise, an embarrassed groan.

"—Sorry Bobbie. We needed to find you, it was the only way."

She asked, evenly. "Did you read it?"

"Uh…yes. That was the whole point of looking for it." Fenton was trying not to laugh. He didn't have to see to know her hands were over her crimson face.

"Oh no! You saw what I wrote about Joe, didn't you?" she asked, muffled.

"Maybe—"

"Oh no!"

Fenton patted her shoulder. "—But the stuff you wrote about Oscar Smuff? Inspired!"

Bobbie giggled.

"Don't worry, I haven't told anyone what was in the book, apart from the fact you'd gone to see Nancy."

"I hadn't actually only come to see Nancy Drew. I'd spent quite a while plotting out a map of where all the cars had been stolen to see if there was a pattern. When it indicated River Heights as being the eye of the storm, I decided to come and investigate. I thought I'd drop in on Nancy and introduce myself at the same time. I've always wanted to meet her. She's inspiring."

"It was lucky you did because Hannah was able to give just enough information to enable me to follow you and I found the map in your hotel room."

"Did you? Is that what bought you here?"

"It was," Fenton confirmed. "And Bobbie, I must say that the map was a brilliant piece of logical detective work. You should be proud of yourself."

Bobbie sat silently for a while again. "I don't think I'm going to be an investigator after all, I'm not cut out for it."

"Nonsense."

"No it's not, I've learned my lesson."

"Don't give up on it, speak to Nancy first. I'll introduce you once we're out of here."

"You know Nancy Drew well enough as to introduce me?"

"Bobbie, Nancy is dating Frank!"

"Is she? Since when?"

"A few weeks."

"Wow. I knew they'd worked together, but I never…makes sense I suppose." Bobbie's tucked her legs under herself into a more relaxed position. "When I worked out where I thought their base of operations was, I came out here on surveillance. Came for two days straight before I saw anything unusual. I was driving around and saw a truck outside one of the buildings. On the back was an old car, so I started taking photos. But I was spotted and they ambushed me. They locked me up in here and this is where I've been all this time."

"Have they hurt you, Bobbie?"

"No. But one of them – his name is Andy – he's bent on doing away with me and doesn't care if I'm within hearing distance when he says it. He's cruel. Pete won't let him though. He's the reason I'm here, but he's also the reason I'm still alive."

Fenton didn't like what he'd been told, though he didn't verbalise his fears. If the gang were desperate before, enough to hold a young girl hostage for so long, they would be even more so now. He feared this could push them into a territory they wouldn't ordinarily venture into. "Well, they'll have to come through me to get to you, sweetheart. I know things seem pretty dire right now, but Joe's on his way, so we're not totally helpless."

She sat upright. "Really? Joe Hardy's coming here?"

"Yep."

"Can I just set one thing straight? The thing with Joe in my notes? That was so two years ago. Got myself a real boyfriend. It was just a little crush."

Fenton laughed. "You don't have to explain, I know how these things work. Joe had more than his fair share of crushes, believe me, and not all healthy or realistic – probably more than his fair share. Now Frank? Not so much…too preoccupied with his intellect to be concerned with such inconveniences as the usual teenage angst – me and Laura are still waiting for him to go through that phase." He laughed at his own musings and Bobbie joined in—

—And then the door opened and a slither of light burst between the halves of the opening, the sound of laughter abruptly ceasing. Neither of them had noticed the sound of the padlock being opened.

Fenton tensed, squinting against the sudden shaft of late afternoon sunlight, dimmer now than when he'd first become imprisoned, turning dusky. Bobbie made a tremulous noise and crushed herself into him. If she could have done so, Fenton was sure she'd have climbed right inside him to hide.

"_It's too soon…it's too soon!"_ she frantically whispered up into his ear.

Fenton supposed she meant it was too early for Pete to return, that it was unexpected, not part of the routine. He quickly stood up and pulled his charge up with him, tucking her firmly behind – wishing he'd swallowed his pride all those days ago and had brought along the weapon he was issued.

Once the double doors were fully open, Fenton was looking at five men silhouetted there. With the light behind them he was unable to see them in any clarity, one dimensional cardboard cut-outs. One stepped forward into the container and his face softened into focus. Fenton assumed from his earlier overheard snooping and from what Bobbie had told him, that this was Pete.

Pete didn't venture closer, just locked onto Fenton visually. "Who are you?"

Fenton shrugged. "A passer-by who heard this girl calling for help."

Pete's face twitched. "Liar. A passer-by wouldn't be able to crack a padlock open like you did without a key. Who are you really?"

"More to the point…who are you?" Fenton countered, evenly.

"—Uh, I've had enough of this!" One of the others suddenly piped up and surged forward with the other three and came straight at Fenton and Bobbie.

"Hey-hey-HEY! Keep away!" Fenton shouted, backing off and holding Bobbie even tighter so she also moved, still shielded by his body.

"Andy!" Pete said, warningly.

"What's the matter with you?" Andy snapped at Pete as he passed. "Stop pussy footing around!"

Then the men did exactly what Fenton had promised Bobbie they'd have to do – _they went through him to get to her_. Her grip tightened around Fenton's middle as he was manhandled by the men, and she was pulled along with him for a distance before one of the men gripped her tightly by the biceps and hauled her in the opposite direction. Her tenuous hold was torn clear and they were separated.

"Don't you hurt her…damn you!" Fenton shouted and reached out, but she was gone and he was forced up against the wall, his arms pinned by the wrists and elbows.

"Shut up," Andy muttered and started going through Fenton's pockets as he glared fiercely down his nose and jerked to try and get at him. Eventually Andy extracted Fenton's wallet, lock picking tools, phone and FBI badge. "Thought so…see?" Andy turned to Pete and waved the badge. "FBI scum, Fenton Hardy. I knew this was goin' to happen…didn't I warn you? You kept the girl here alive for too long, we should have gotten rid of her a long time ago." He threw the cell to the floor and stomped on it.

Pete pointed. "I've told you, we're not goin' down that road. Use your head; boosting cars is one thing, but murder? No way!"

Fenton looked at Bobbie. Her eyes were flitting about, terrified and he wished he could say something that would make her feel better, but he had nothing. All he had was the vague hope that Joe would make it in time to intervene. He looked at Pete who was still arguing with Andy. This was a man trying hard to pull back the control; he looked to be on the edge of lurching into a cloud of panic, he was losing it…and the worst part? He knew it too.

"If you won't do it, I'll do it for you!" Andy shouted.

"NO! We stick to my plan – it's a good plan. We tie 'em up in the trunk and I'll drive 'em to where we're goin'. We can decide what to do afterwards."

"We've had enough of your soft 'plans', Pete. We're gonna finish them off and leave the bodies in one of the empty containers. No one will find them for months – years even, and by then, we'll be long gone." Andy moved towards Bobbie, his hands reaching for her throat and she opened wide to scream and kicked back at the men holding her. A hand was forcefully laid across her face instantly silencing her and she was lifted and clasp even tighter, arms trapped. Her head was drawn back, exposing her neck.

Fenton bellowed for her to be left alone, but had started to be jostled as the men restraining him also made a move, an arm encircling his neck. Fenton thrust forward to unbalance and prevent the arm from getting a solid hold, but his momentum was used to force him down onto his knees and into a deadly headlock, so tight his carotid artery was being compressed, cutting off his circulation – his vision instantly started to grain out and pressure built in his head. Fenton had to fight, but his arms were pinned tight he couldn't breathe.

Sudden silence and a stillness – which was only broken upon Fenton hearing Pete say, _"Back off, Andy!" _The tone turned slightly clearer as Pete turned his face towards Fenton. _"Let him take a breath!"_

The arm adjusted around Fenton's neck and the stress was off which enabled him to take a painfully quick and deep exhalation of air. The prickly sensation began to clear and he looked up, fearful of what he was going to see…to witness what had become of little Bobbie Shandley…what he'd failed to prevent. But what he actually found was Pete standing with his arm out and a gun in his fist and Andy having paused, his fingers resting around Bobbie's throat. Andy was staring at the gun, his face going through a multitude of expressions, his fingers convulsing and wanting to tighten up.

"We're doing this my way. Agreed?" Pete snapped.

"You're a fool – they arrested your wife! Don't you want revenge for that?"

"Not against a girl I don't, so move back!" Although apparently in control again, Pete was betraying his cool exterior with a visibly shaking arm. "I said we're following my plan…are-we-in-agreement?" he asked again slowly and deliberately and pulled his shoulders back.

Andy's mouth curled. "Yeah, we're in agreement," he finally complied through gritted teeth. He sighed loudly and took that step away.

Bobbie made a tremulous sound from behind the hand that was still across her face and went limp in her attackers arms, eyes glistening as relieved tears erupted over the top.

Fenton dropped his chin, light-headed, but borne more from relief than from the strangulation he'd just endured.

"Tie 'em up, we're leaving." Pete backed up to the doorway and put the gun back in his jacket pocket. "Just don't forget I've got the gun, so I'm the boss."

Fenton's wrists were pulled together and an itchy twine encircled quickly and pulled tight before the same was done to his ankles. Then he was shoved flat out. Bobbie appeared next to him a few seconds later, trussed up in exactly the same way. "Hang on in there, Honey."

"I'm trying." Her voice was barely a whisper, her breathing uneven.

"Bring them out here," Pete said, stepping outside and pointing to the ground at the back of one of the doors where it was opened flat against the next box.

Fenton was pulled half aloft by the armpits, dragged and dropped onto the ground with his back to the door. Bobbie was carried out seconds later, and placed down next to him. She immediately drew her legs up and pushed her face into her knees, locking Fenton out. He shuffled himself right up next to her to ensure some sort of comforting contact.

Two more men entered the picture, one of them was One-arm. "What's happening?" he asked Andy, circumventing Pete as the leader.

"Pete's insisting that we gotta take them with us."

"You're kidding?" One-arm now addressed Pete. "We can't take them!"

"—I'm saying the same to you as I said to Andy…no one is killin' either of them. They're comin' with me and I'll decide what to do with 'em later."

"But that's crazy, they're dead weight," Andy said from the other side of Pete causing him to spin to face him.

"I'm with Andy on this one. I vote we finish this now!" said another of the men.

Pete's control was slipping again, the power running like water through his fingers. Spinning like a top from one face to the other, he was out numbered and out resolved by his mutinous crew who were now all throwing views and counter suggestions at him:

"_I told you, Pete, you're losing it."_

"_Yeah, that's right!"_

"_I'm with Andy—"_

"_I don't want to, but whatever's necessary—"_

"_Whatever the majority go with—"_

"_Yeah, we'll vote on it—"_

"_Let's vote—"_

Fenton Hardy wasn't an easily spooked man, but even he was starting to feel nervous. Pete was on the verge of giving in to his motley squad's demands – he was only one man, and a nervy one at that. All his crew had to do was to overpower him and take the gun. It would be only a matter of time before they realised and did just that. This was getting decidedly dodgy for Fenton and his charge.

And then something happened that altered the whole dynamics, Joe Hardy strode out into the middle of the little open square with his arms held out wide, palms open and friendly. "What's up? You all having a party and forgot to invite the guest of honour? I'm hurt, buddies!"


	31. Chapter 31

**Boosting - Chapter 31**

"Who the hell are you?" Andy asked Joe.

"Erm…a gatecrasher?" Joe ­lamely responded, looking towards Fenton and lifting his chin slightly. "What's goin' down, dudes?"

Bobbie's head came out to take a quick look, full of hope, but when she saw only Joe there she went back under cover.

Andy didn't even bother to consult with Pete this time. He just looked around at the other men to confirm they were looking to him for a lead and nodded. Moving in one mass wave, the men, except for Pete, descended. Taken by surprise, Joe skipped back with his palms up, "Whoa! What's the problem, I've no argument with you guys!"

"We're finishing this now, Pete!" Andy spat and joined his colleagues.

Fenton could see Joe was trying to reason with them, but he'd made a bad judgement call. If his plan had been to distract the men and win them some time, he'd achieved that all right…but at what cost?

Joe's stance was now defensive; he'd pushed one leg back, widening his bearing to improve his balance, and had raised both hands in readiness – although still to curl them into weapons. Through a gap between the men, Fenton and his son connected briefly before Joe ran his tongue along his teeth, set his jaw and finally fisted up.

He went into action, launching first rather than waiting for someone to make the initial move, preferring to be the aggressor. He turned to the largest of the group, took a couple of half running steps and hit out with a solid, thunderous roundhouse, driving the man back and onto his butt with a punch as hard as brick. The power of that single punch stopped two of the men in their tracks, his brutish strength disquieting them for an instant.

Joe followed up by bringing the arm back into a backhand slug to the next man's jaw, slamming him hard – although this time he didn't drop his victim, it did spin him.

Fenton predicted that although Joe appeared to be holding the upper hand, it was unlikely to remain as he was slowly being flanked – one man was moving round behind and the man he'd felled was already getting to his feet and looking plenty pissed. Fenton started to desperately free himself. There was some give to the rope, but he was far from being liberated.

The next man fronted up to Joe and made a move to grab and wrest him to the ground, but Joe latched onto his wrist, twisted and trapped it into his armpit. Using a flat palm, the younger Hardy followed the line of the man's arm to travel straight up and chop him in the neck, the man gasped and staggered as Joe carelessly tossed him away by the throat into the path of the man he'd first punched, knocking him down again. Joe immediately made for his next intended victim: One-arm.

"Joe! Look out behind you, son!!!" Fenton bellowed.

Starting to turn, Joe was possibly in time to register the danger, but wasn't in time to stop it. Andy had stepped forward and was swinging his clenched hand into the small of Joe's back, his recent operation scar right on target. The punch came in devastatingly hard, crippling and expelling all the air from his lungs. Joe dropped to his knees and Andy ensured he carried on to the ground with a savage booted shove to his back. Triumphant cries preceded the men surrounding Joe as they began kicking. All Fenton could see now of his son were his thrashing legs.

Throughout, Pete had been yelling for the men to stop, but his words had failed to cut through – or no one was taking any notice. Fenton could see that Pete was getting desperate, that he'd have to do something soon to reinstate his tattered position within the group. Pete spun around and looked down at Fenton seeing him as the one instrument he could use to restore his standing.

"Stop struggling!" Pete shouted, dipping and grabbing Fenton by the scruff of the neck and shaking him hard. "Stay still!"

"You don't want to do this!" Fenton said as Pete's hand twitched for the gun.

Bobbie lost hold of her senses and started screaming shrilly and desperately, and Frank limped into view, holding up his cell phone. "I'm gonna phone the cops!"

"_What the_—?" Fenton gazed at him, his mouth dropping. Until this point, he'd been assuming Joe was working alone, so he hadn't seen this bombshell comin'! Neither had any of the other men luckily, and Frank's surprise appearance had caused them to stop beating on Joe for the moment.

Frank lifted his stick and gave Pete a jab. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but this is assault and unless you stop, I'm calling the cops."

Pete looked at the stick and then panned slowly back up at Frank. And then Fenton knew, just knew, that Pete would use Frank rather than him to prove his point. This was a flash point he wasn't sure his oldest was in a mental state to handle. Pete made a face that Fenton didn't like. Fenton cursed.

One-arm decided that Frank wasn't a threat, began laughing and went back to kicking Joe.

"You asked for it!" Frank yelled at the gang and started dialling.

Immediately, Pete yanked the stick from Frank's fingers, tossed it, and went after him. Frank tried to get out of the way, but wasn't dexterous enough to move quickly and his knee gave. He fell back, reaching out for the first thing to steady himself: Pete. They both went down in a heap with Frank beneath.

As Fenton suspected, Frank wasn't ready for this, illustrated by one arm being wrapped protectively across his face while the other reaching out to push Pete away. "Get off me!" Obviously the clash with the Pandora Posse and what had been done to Frank at their hands was still too fresh and raw.

Pete forced Frank's arm down and held it firmly against the ground.

Panicked, Frank tried to utilise his phone again, but it was quickly dispatched from his fingers by a swift hit.

"I gotta stop this," Fenton muttered and started trying to free himself again. Bobbie now silent beside him, frozen but watching.

Frank held onto the man's jacket and said one single pathetic word: "Please!"

Pete started punching down into Frank's scarred face.

*****

Minutes earlier:

"_He threw me! I can't believe he threw me again – we had a pact dammit, __a pact__!"_ Frank lay in the dumpster and hit out at the boxes covering him, unable to have seen Joe's departure. He'd not even had the opportunity to negotiate with his thick-headed brother as that damned cardboard had enveloped him the instant he'd landed. But he knew Joe had gone, the _"Later, Dude…"_ had given it away.

The frustrated punches caused Frank to slip even further – a full two feet before he felt able to start struggling free – and a struggle it was, akin to being in recyclable quicksand! Every time he put his left leg out to thrust himself up, his foot slipped and he didn't have anything firm to grip onto for leverage.

He growled and dug with his left hand, unable to use the other as he still had hold of his precious walking stick. Eventually, with some effort, he found he'd shifted enough to see sky. His legs were angled lower than his body; so effectively he was now sitting on the boxes. He could also see the edge of the dumpster so he javelined his stick out with the intention of retrieving it later.

Suddenly­, Frank saw the funny side of his predicament – a mental image of him being tossed into the dumpster entered and made him chortle. Frank understood exactly why Joe had done it and he couldn't bring himself to be angry any more.

But, Joe was underestimating him, was worrying too much. Yes Frank hadn't been well – still wasn't – but he'd been feeling heaps better after a couple of decent sleeps and his thinking processes were so much clearer. Although his leg was useless, there was so much the rest of his body and brain could accomplish. He wasn't as weakened as Joe believed.

Throughout his musing, Frank had been continuing work on the boxes, picking and throwing them to one side and over his shoulder until he'd cleared a section of floor. He placed his foot down on to Terra-firma, followed gingerly by his right.

It was when he was finally facing the sidewall that he started hearing yelling coming from the direction Joe had gone. They were a mixture of shouts – some jeering, others panicking and pleading. Fretful, worrying noises.

Frank reached up and gripped the lip of the dumpster, gritted his teeth and did a pull-up, feeling the effects of not having used a gym for so long. He slowly lifted until his shoulders came level with the top, put his forearms down and wriggled until he was on his stomach. Finally, he allowed himself to roll and drop down to the ground, break-falling as he landed. He came to a stop right next to his walking stick. _"Skill!"_

He was back on his feet and reaching for his stick when he heard his father's voice clearly shout out: _"__Joe! Look out behind you, son__!!!"_ his head snapped towards where the noises which had now become a heckling roar. He scooped up the stick and he did an awkward, half dragging run towards the noise, which was emanating from an open area just ahead of him.

Frank was in time to watch Joe disappear under a mass of flaying limbs – at least he thought it was Joe, it was only confirmed by his father's reaction, which was to start to shout and struggle. The girl – who he assumed was Bobbie – was curled into a frightened ball.

The man guarding his father bent and pulled Fenton by the collar aggressively and began shaking him, his head rocking back and forth with the force of the violent action. Then Fenton said, "no, you don't want to do this!" and the man's hand was dancing over something in his pocket…a gun! The girl started screaming, guessing his intention.

_All the above observations were downloaded and processed in Frank's mind in a millisecond and one of his madcap plans began to formulate and upload._ _The type of counteraction Frank was often forced to go with because his brother would go off on a whim, reacting on impulse alone. Frank was surprised; he thought that aspect of his personality was gone, lost amongst all those shards of mental debris._

Coolly, Frank took out his phone, thrust it up, and limped into the open. "I'm gonna phone the cops!" he yelled.

He couldn't believe how calm he felt. It was just like when they'd been in that bar, when those guys had been threatening to that girl. Again he felt no uneasiness, apprehension, worry, fright, barely even adrenalin…just total, blinding white, control. He didn't care if he got hurt, not one smidgen and that alone was disquieting, dangerous even. He quite liked it…and quite didn't, all at the same time. He was concerned for Joe, his dad and Bobbie, but himself? No!

Fenton quit struggling and looked up, gaping in surprise, as did the other men. Joe was the only one who didn't, his arms and legs weakly flapping.

Making straight for the guy with the gun, Frank started 'telling him off' and poked him with his stick. "I don't know what you guys think you're doing, but this is assault and unless you stop, I'm calling the cops._ Man, my lines are way corny! How is anyone falling for this?"_

The man looked at the walking stick, then at Frank and lifted his lip into a sneer.

One of the men who'd stopped attacking Joe began kicking again and the others also looked like they were preparing to continue, so Frank knew he had to act quickly. "You asked for it!" he said and began 'dialling' his phone.

The man took the bait and ran straight at him causing Frank to 'panic' and back off. His 'knee went out from under him' and he staggered.

The man reached him, yanked his walking stick from his grasp and threw it to one side as Frank grabbed at him for 'support', allowing his body to fall backwards and taking the guy with him.

Beneath and feigning fright, Frank shouted, "get off me!" and made an attempt at wrapping a forearm over his face protectively, still holding onto his phone. He groped forward with his right towards his attacker's eyes.

Joe was out of sight behind the man who was sitting atop him, so Frank had no way of knowing if he'd caused enough of a distraction for the attack on his brother to stop again, although he couldn't hear anyone striking out at him any more. All eyes were now hopefully focussed on Frank alone.

As Frank predicted, the guy grabbed his flailing arm and pushed until it was held against the asphalt. Frank moved his other arm from over his face as if to start dialling 911, but his handset was immediately knocked from his fingers.

_What the man was unaware of was that Frank had already keyed 911 as soon as he'd walked out into the open with the phone in the air. So although Frank hadn't spoken directly to the dispatcher, he or she had been listening to the whole incident and was hopefully tracking his phone via his GPS software._

Now that his hand was free, Frank held on to the side of the man's jacket and made a 'clumsy' attempt at pulling him away. "Please!" he begged.

The man made a fist and brought it down into Frank's left cheek.

Anticipating the blow, Frank twisted his head aside as it made contact to lessen the impact, so although it rocked his face sideways, the hit wasn't as hard as it could have been – certainly not as hard as his own punch would be, not by a long way…and there would be one, once he'd evened the odds.

Frank began feeling for the gun in the man's pocket as the second punch came in. This time, he wasn't as ready, his mind focused on what his hand was doing. This one was harder and it stung, but it didn't matter, his probing fingers had found their prize. They encircled the gun and gripped on, his forefinger sliding into the trigger casement.

Looking up into the guy's face, Frank waited for the optimum moment, half closing his eyes in anticipation of the next strike. And for good reason, he had to let himself be hit properly to ensure enough distracting movement. The man began to swing and his fist connected explosively with Frank's cheek and Frank was immediately tasting the tangy coppery-ness of blood – but he retained his coolness and at the point of impact, when the man's body was moving the most, Frank freed the gun. At the precise time the man's arm reached its full arc and was coming back, Frank swung the weapon up – right between the man's eyes. "Surprise!"

The guy jerked his arms back, startled, releasing Frank's right arm which immediately struck out, pounding the man in the temple, Frank's middle knuckle pushed outermost, ensuring his fist was a mini-knuckle duster. It hit hard, and man's head spun, the clattering momentum driving his face and upper body around one hundred and eighty degrees and then returning. He stayed upright on his knees for a couple of swaying seconds with an astounded expression before his eyes rolled and he flopped sideways out for the count, still half over Frank's lower legs.

"_Now __that's__ a punch!"_ Frank thought and immediately transferred the gun to his right hand. He was able to see the gang of assailants still encircling his fallen brother, but they were all now frozen and staring down the barrel of the gun, bemusement as to their change in fortune. "Get away from my brother!"

Obviously 'One Arm' still to considered Frank a lightweight, his small brain unable to work out he'd been faking. So shrugging his shoulders he brought his foot back to kick Joe again, this time in the head.

_Big mistake__!_

Frank lowered the gun's trajectory and fired. 'One Arm' screamed, toppled over, and groped at his sneaker with his good arm, a sneaker that probably now housed toes floating in a pool of red gloop.

Once the crying had reduced in volume to a sobbing groan, Frank said, calmly, "perhaps I didn't make myself clear – get away from my brother and take that idiot with you. If you're not against that export container in two seconds flat, I'm gonna start popping kneecaps, and I don't care who I start with, so move, NOW!"

And this time they did move…quickly, dragging their shot comrade with them. Shifting so fast they were tripping over one another. They backed up to the side of the crate and Frank tipped his head on one side and levelled his gaze, daring someone to move. He swept the weapon from one end of the line of men to the other, menacing them into total subservience.

In the distance came the sounds of sirens. The cops had arrived too quickly to have responded to Frank's call alone, so he supposed Joe must have phoned them too – smart.

"You okay, Bro?" Frank called without releasing his gaze from the men, settling back on his elbow, keeping his gun arm up. With his foe still lying across his legs, Frank couldn't get up, and besides, he didn't want to stumble on his knee and give the opportunity for anyone to get away. "Joe?"

No response was forthcoming, and Frank couldn't see any movement in his peripheral vision. "Dad – any chance of assistance for Joe?"

"Hang on, Son, I'm almost…got it!" and then Fenton was freeing his ankles and turning his attention to quickly untying Bobbie.

Joe started coughing, rolled himself onto his side and began clawing at the ground and whimpering, fighting towards his summit, climbing hard.

"Joe?" Frank asked again, growing even more concerned, this time allowing his attention to shift and dart quickly towards him.

His brother fought himself into a seated position and leaned forward over his knees, shaking his head, his shoulders heaving. Joe looked up through his eyelashes, ghosted a smile, and flopped back down.

Fenton was at Frank's side with Bobbie clinging to him. "Stay with Frank, Bobbie, I'm going to see to Joe. Don't worry, honey, everything's going to be fine." Fenton unpeeled her from around himself and transferred her to Frank. Immediately, she encircled her arms tightly around Frank's torso and pushed her face into his chest, shaking from head to toe.

Frank sat up straighter and put his free arm around her as his father tugged Pete off his legs.

"Good to have you on board, Frank." Fenton muttered and moved to crouch down at Joe's side. He whispered a few words and Joe nodded before Fenton patted him on the cheek. Grimacing, Joe allowed himself to be assisted slowly to where Frank and Bobbie were and out of the danger zone.

"Stay there," Fenton commanded and eased him down. "Lie here for bit. I'm going to wave down the boys in blue." He laid a hand on Frank's shoulder and leaned into his ear. "Whatever you do, son, don't let your guard down. There's one guy missing, they must have left him somewhere as he has a leg injury."

"Small-fry," Frank muttered.

Fenton started to sprint away, but pulled up short as he started to pass Andy and looked him up and down in disgust. Andy steadfastly refused to meet his eye until Fenton suddenly hit out and socked him hard in the mouth, knocking him into the crate. Fenton watched him slide down to the ground and pointed back at Bobbie. "She's just a girl, you stinking coward!"

Frank smiled slightly as his father left Andy in a heap, holding his mouth. "I think you've made quite an impression on our dad," Frank whispered to Bobbie and set his gaze to concentrate wholly on the men again.

He must have tranced out because suddenly someone was talking and interrupting his visual pinprick of absorption. "Frank, drop the gun in here, you can stand down…Frank…Frank!" he jumped and snapped his head up, finding Chief McGuiness, River Height's Chief of Police standing there.

"It's okay son," Fenton said from where he was on his haunches next to Joe. "Lose the weapon."

Frank saw what was in front of him. It was a plastic resealable evidence bag and finally understood what was being asked of him. He loosened his grip and let the gun slip, depositing it and Chief McGuiness instantly took it away.

His slipping conscious mind was something welcoming before, but now, losing all sense of time was something Frank didn't like. The men were gone from the side of the crate and he must have been sitting there with the gun aimed at nothing while the police worked around him. He hadn't even been aware that the girl was no longer there. It wouldn't do – he was going to have to deal with it. "Where did Bobbie go?" he asked his father.

"Cop took her, but I don't think she's going to keep her away for long though."

Frank turned his attention to his brother who was still flat out. "Has someone phoned for an ambulance?"

"They're on their way."

"Joe? What hurts, bro?" Frank asked, leaning over him.

"Just about everything," Joe muttered, aggrieved. "But especially my back. Can you check it for me, my scar, it feels like something tore."

Between them, Fenton and Frank carefully rolled him and Frank lifted up Joe's shirt and took a good look. "No blood or anything, although there's a nice imprint of someone's size tens. So if they've done any damage it's on the inside," Frank observed. They rolled him back.

"I wouldn't advise moving any more, let the paramedics take care of you," Fenton advised and grinned at Frank. "What are you doing here, Junior? Joe didn't say you were coming."

Frank smiled back. "Well, I could hardly let him come on his own, could I, huh? Look what happened. Thank God I was able to get out of that dumpster."

"How did you end up in a dumpster?"

"Joe threw me, lifted me over his head and tossed me in!"

"Joe!"

Joe's eyes darkened. "You freakin' snitch - you suck, dude! You'd have done the same thing, Dad."

"No I wouldn't, I'd have put my back out!"

Frank laughed. "Bro, we seriously need to have a talk about what making a pact means."

"Great. I get told off by my brother and my dad, followed by another trip to the hospital strapped to a backboard – my evening is complete!"


	32. Chapter 32

**Boosting - Chapter 32**

Fenton reached to press the bell, but the door swung wide before he got that far, a worried looking Hannah on the other side. She took in the sight of the three of them – Frank, Fenton and Bobbie. "Goodness me, what happened to you, and where's Joe?"

"At the hospital. He's okay, but they're keeping him in for observation."

"Hospital—?" Hannah opened her mouth to ask more, but Fenton interrupted. "Hannah, it's a long story, and we're all exhausted. Bobbie's been messed around enough. She's answered enough questions for one night."

Hannah focused fully on her. "Hello, Bobbie, remember me?"

Bobbie nodded and allowed Hannah to take her arm and take her inside, letting go of Fenton's hand.

"Would you like a shower? Freshen up a little?" Hannah asked and put a motherly arm about her shoulders. "Your clothes are in Nancy's room. Fenton fetched them from the hotel and they're laundered and pressed." As they reached the stairs, Hannah looked back. "Go on through, help yourselves to whatever you need. There's ice for that cheek, Frank. Bobbie and I are going to have some girlie time, aren't we?"

Bobbie smiled. "You're all very kind."

Fenton smiled back. That was probably twice as much as ­she'd said since leaving the precinct, sandwiched between the Hardys in the back of a police cruiser – engulfed by Frank's jacket and gripping Fenton's hand and arm.

Earlier, after two hours of heavy but gentle police questioning, Fenton had burst into the comfortable interview suite and insisted on taking Bobbie home to the Drew's residence, and that the police save their questions for the next day. Then he'd collected Frank from the hospital, having to get heavy before he would leave. Joe was so sleepy that all Frank was accomplishing was stopping him from being able to relax.

Fenton shrugged his jacket off and led Frank to the kitchen. He pulled out one of the breakfast bar chairs. "Sit," he ordered and switched the kettle on. He heard Frank slump down and his walking stick hit the table, presumably in its folded-up state.

"You can stop now Dad."

"Stop what?"

"The protective father thing. It's done. Bobbie's safe, Joe's…well…Joe, and I'm okay. You can relax, kick back."

"I'm still making you a drink – live with it!" Fenton tittered and placed two cups onto the counter. He turned around to face his son, his hand going to his neck. "Are you though?"

"Am I what?"

"Okay."

Frank mulled over his answer. "I've reached some conclusions."

And he wasn't lying this time, Fenton could just tell. He smiled and went back to making them a hot drink and rubbing at the back of his neck.

"What's up?" Frank eventually asked.

"Don't know. My neck's not been right since Carson hit me and when that guy put me in the strangle-hold, I think he wrenched it again."

"More likely when Pete shook you, maybe you got a whiplash?" Frank stood, and moved to the side. "Sit down."

"What?"

"Just…sit down, trust me." Frank pulled Fenton gently down into the chair before moving behind and rolling his sleeves up his forearms.

Fenton didn't understand Frank's intentions until he felt his son's hands slide over his shoulders to begin massaging, making initial long strokes with his palms, warming the area.

"I'm not surprised your neck's sore, you're pretty tense."

"Can you blame me?"

Frank snorted and stopped lightly sweeping to put one hand either side of his neck and begin kneading. "This would be so much easier with oils and not having to do it through your shirt."

Fenton's head sagged, his son's proficient hands relaxing and lulling him. "Where'd you learn to do this?" he heard himself ask, seemingly from the other side of the room, his voice echoing back.

Frank put one hand over the other, interwove his fingers and bore down, tracing circles with the heel of his hand. "Oh…sport massages when I was doing football and baseball. You pick up on stuff I guess."

Fenton's eyes closed. He was floating.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"Um…no, quite the opposite." Fenton assured.

Frank stopped and tentatively explored a particular area with his fingertips before Fenton felt his hand moved inside his collar to the bare skin.

"Ah, here's your problem, you've got a hard knot pressing up against your muscle, probably on the nerve. It's most likely a build up of scar tissue from when Carson clouted you." He pressed his thumbs in and started pushing against the area. "It just needs breaking up. For a small man, Carson did a real neat job."

"Um."

Frank quietened as he concentrated on working against the lump and Fenton could actually feel the uneven area his son's thumbs were traversing.

"Joe would probably find this helpful for his back and abs, if he wasn't so ticklish," Frank remarked. "Get rid of some of the more stubborn tissue from around his muscles. From…where he…got shot?"

Fenton grunted in agreement.

There was an extended silence while Frank kneaded away and Fenton could feel the tension in his neck slowly lifting, a comfortable heat rising.

"You know?" Frank, continued, "I've learned lately that sometimes, you just have to trust other people when you need help. Sometimes some things are just too difficult to tackle. Sometimes problems are in an area just can't reach to rub the discomfort away…Just sometimes…I don't…I can't—" his hands stopped moving, although didn't lift away.

Fenton's eyes snapped open and he looked up into his son's face, realising he'd been standing there quietly weeping. For how long he didn't know, but it was of no consequence; it was the most honest emotion he'd seen his son demonstrate since the Pandora case. It was all very familiar.

He stood and reached out as Frank gripped the back of the seat: "I nearly got Joe killed! I did that to him, to my best friend, to my brother. And when he needed me – at that one time in his life when he really needed me – I wasn't there! I could've lost him and I wouldn't have even been there to say goodbye. What kind of a brother am I?"

Fenton wrapped him in a comforting hold. "The best kind of brother, and Joe wouldn't say anything different." He put his hand over the back of his son's bended head and pulled him in. "Everything is coming to the surface and conflicting with your logical mind making it all confusing and intense. The heart and the mind aren't separate; they're interwoven and sometimes they tangle. Struggling just alone will make the knots pull tighter so it's time you let someone help you untie them." Fenton paused; he knew now was the time to impart the information only known to him and Con – that one piece of knowledge that would help more than anything else. He said softly, slowly and succinctly so there could be no doubt: "I was…all the stronger for it."

And Frank was straightening to stare into his father's knowing, wise gaze, seeing something in his father's dark eyes that he'd never noticed before. The realisation dawning that the strongest, most trustworthy and admirable of all men – his own father – had been through something similar. "No…way?"

Fenton curtly nodded. "You, me and Joe…we're not so different."

*****

"Is it them?" Con shouted through from the living room. The doorbell had rung and James Anderson, his temporary housemate and nursemaid had gone to answer it.

"_Give me a chance to open the door, Unc, I'm not bionic!"_

Con grinned at being called 'Unc'. He was enjoying being someone's uncle, even if it was to a smart-mouth! Still, it was preferable to being called X-L – not that James had altogether dropped that nickname.

"_Yeah, it's them and Mrs Hardy,"_ his nephew confirmed.

"_Call me Laura."_ She walked in with a large cooking dish in her hands, James following. "Casserole," she said, pushing the pot towards Con.

A look passed between Con and his nephew and James took the dish reverently, repressing a laugh. "Thank you, Laura."

Con knew James was thinking the same as him: another pot to add to the twenty or so that had already been delivered by various ex-police colleague's wives, girlfriends and neighbours. They were going to be eating casserole for the next month!

"Thanks Laura. That'll save me a…whoa – nice eye, Champ!" Con exclaimed as Joe rounded the doorway.

"Too old for 'Champ' now, but yeah, it is pretty impressive, isn't it?" Joe agreed, his hand touching the area. "Almost as nice as your forehead."

"Would have been far worse if Rebel hadn't been there." Con stroked the top of his dog's head and glanced down to find Rebel had deposited drool adoringly down his jeans. He rubbed one denim-clad leg against the other to blend the mark away. "How you doing?"

"Not bad, you?" Joe dropped down next to him on the sofa.

"Getting there. Where're the others?"

_Over the last few days, everyone involved with the case had agreed to get together for a debriefing with the intention of pinning down all the facts. Making sure that when the case came to court, none of the gang would wriggle free of their collective responsibilities._

"Frank's locking up his car and Dad's pulling his leg. Dude's super-dooper careful with the Corvette now – crook lock, steering lock, the works." Joe turned to eye James curiously, as did Laura. Their close examination clearly making him uncomfortable.

"Um, I'm going to…do a bit of tidying up in the kitchen," James muttered and ducked quickly out. Con guessed he wasn't only leaving so he didn't have to answer questions; he was going to hide the other casserole dishes so Laura wouldn't be offended.

This was the first time Fenton was going to have seen Con since the case had been solved. Fenton had spent a further couple of days out of town travelling with Bobbie to ensure she got home safely and her parents had been extremely grateful for Fenton's attentiveness. So when he walked in with Frank and Nancy, the sight of Con's bruised body caused him to freeze, his face opening wide. "My God Con, what the hell?"

Con just grinned back. "Take a seat, partner. I'd stand up, but I can't…be bothered. Be quick, this window of opportunity won't be open for long. I'm like an old man; I could nod off any second. I love a good nap, but the public dribbling is embarrassing, and I'm not talking about Rebel!"

Fenton laughed and sank down next to Joe as Nancy sat down in one of the easy chairs and set down the whole gamut of paperwork she'd been carrying onto the coffee table. Frank perched on the arm of her seat, leaving the final chair for his mother.

Con went to his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, which he offered to Nancy. "Here you go, Drew."

"What's that?" she asked, taking it.

"A voucher for a restaurant in town. I owe you and Frank a meal, remember?"

"Thanks Con! I wasn't going to hold you to that, you know." Nancy smiled and took her glasses out to read what the voucher said, angling the paper for Frank to be able to see.

"Well look at that—" Con began, "—She's a proper secretary now!"

Nancy narrowed her eyes, slowly removed her glasses and laid them down before moving towards him – Con grinning inanely the entire time. She bent, put her mouth about an inch from his ear and whispered. _"Shut it…Emperor Constantine." _

Con's grin immediately dropped and he turned to stare, dumfounded. "How did you find out? Never mind, you win! _Dammit, I bet it was that pesky nephew of mine!"_

Standing back with an angelic smile, Nancy second-guessed Con's assumption. "It wasn't James," she said and returned to her chair.

"What was that all about?" Joe asked, frowning at Frank, both of them realising they'd missed something big.

"Nothing!" Con snapped.

"Okayyyyyy…actually—" Frank spoke up. "—I've got some news that I wanted to tell you about before we get down to it."

"That's my cue to go and make drinks," Laura said and started to get out of her chair, only to turn startled as James made a panicked squeaking noise in the kitchen, followed by a tremendously loud clattering that sounded like pots toppling over.

Con cringed, the last thing his nephew needed was Laura walking into the room with him only having hidden half the casseroles.

Luckily, Frank interjected. "No Mom, this concerns you too."

"_Thank __God__!"_ they heard James exclaim. _"I'm okay, I'm cool!"_

"Oh!" Laura sat back down and motioned for Frank to continue.

All eyes turned towards him and Con heard Joe actually swallow hard.

"Okay…I…erm…I turned that job offer down—"

"YES!" Joe shouted and pumped the air. Fenton and Con swatted him simultaneously.

Frank rolled his eyes. "Let me finish, huh, bro?"

"Sorry."

"So…I want to come back to work, BUT—" he said quickly before Joe could start another round of raising-the-roof with his fist. He groped for Nancy's hand and gripped on. "—It's not goin' to be as simple as me just 'getting back on the horse', it's still way too soon. So I'm going away."

"A vacation?" Fenton asked.

"Not exactly. Do you remember back at Carson's house when we—?" Frank made a movement with his finger, first pointing at his father and then himself.

"—Yes," Fenton said quickly.

"Well, it got me to thinking about my knee and a few other things. I'm putting the reward money I got to use. I've spoken to Dr Lindsey about the problems I've been having and he recommended someone – a sports injury specialist. Dr Lindsey sent my notes to her and she thinks she can help. And the clinic I'm goin' to is real close to this other place, a place that specialises in…other things. But they're in Seattle."

Silence.

"What's that mean?" Joe asked, breaking through the shock.

"It means I'm not just goin' away for a few days, it'll likely be weeks. I don't know how long it'll take, but it's something I need to do."

"But…this is…Dude!" Joe spluttered. "When are you goin'?"

"Not sure, I'm still to pin down the details, but soon."

"That's wonderful news." Laura said, smiling at Fenton.

"Yes – good for you, Son!"

"Yeah…awesome," Joe muttered.

Con wasn't actually so sure whether Joe thought it was all that 'awesome'. He looked like someone had just killed his cat.

"Actually, that works out quite nicely. I've got plans for my youngest," Fenton announced, caught Joe's eye and winked.

"Yeah…awesome," Joe said again and gave his father a very similar look to the one he'd just given his brother.

Con couldn't help it; Joe's face was so comical that he burst out laughing. It hurt his back.

*****

Joe was stretched out on top of his houseboat, one leg drawn up. Rufus, his ginger tomcat was lying across his belly and Joe's fingers were weaving through his fur, feeling (rather than hearing) his deep purring. Joe's iPod was turned up loud; rock music blaring all other distractions.

He tucked an arm behind his head and shut his eyes against the spring sun, moving his foot in rhythm to the music. His tapping ceased when something tentatively poked him in the shoulder and he lifted his head in surprise to find Frank standing on the causeway. What had touched him had been the walking stick. Joe took his speakers out. "Sorry, dude I didn't hear you."

Rufus got up, padded to the other side of the roof and turned his back in disgust at the interruption to his quality time.

"It's okay. Can I—" Frank stopped mid-sentence as the boathouse door opened. Vanessa's face appeared just above the roof as she stepped up onto the patio area.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in surprise. She glanced at Joe and then at Frank, weighing up the situation. "Here, have my drink, Frank. I'll go and do myself another." She set two steaming cups down.

"No Vanessa, I—"

"—It's okay, it won't take me long." And she was gone, the door shutting quickly.

Joe knew Vanessa was being tactful; she'd seen the same thing as he had. Frank had something to say and she'd gone so they could talk openly. Joe turned his attention back. "What is it?" He wrapped the headphones loosely around his neck and sat up, hanging his legs down the side.

Frank ran his fingers through his hair before shoving his hand in his pocket. He leaned against his stick and looked past Joe and out to sea. "I'm leaving for Seattle...now."

Joe's eyebrows shot up. "Now? Right now? Right now this minute?" His stomach dropped. He knew this was coming, had tried to ready himself, but his psyche was doing an Irish jig regardless.

"They got a cancellation and were able to move my appointment up." Guilty eyes swivelled back. "I couldn't turn it down. The sooner things are seen to, the sooner I'll be back."

Joe wasn't sure whether Frank meant he'd be physically or psychologically 'back' – probably both. Either way, he wasn't about to make this any more difficult for Frank than he was finding it already. Joe slid from the roof onto the main deck and then jumped down onto the wharf to land next to his brother. "Do you need me to come with you? Cause I will, you know."

Frank dropped his gaze. "It's not a case of need. I'd love you to come with me, but as I said, this is a bit of a one-man show."

"I'm comin' to the airport with you though, see you off."

"No. I hate all that goodbye stuff, and, well, I'm barely holding myself together at the best of times, so it wouldn't be a good idea. Nan's comin' with me. She's leaving for River Heights too."

Joe looked towards the car lot, but couldn't spot the convertible.

Frank turned to try and work out what Joe was looking at, eventually realising what he was searching for. "It's parked out on the main road."

Joe touched his brother's arm, bringing Frank's face back around. "I can't believe you're actually goin'!"

"It won't be forever, I'll be back before you know it."

"I think we both know that's wishful thinking!" Joe said with a half grin.

They stepped forward and embraced. Gripping each other for a little longer and firmer than would have felt natural to most other people before finally stepping back but not dropping their hands.

Frank tipped his head towards the marina entranceway. "I oughta—"

"—No, wait there for just a second, yeah?" Joe pleaded and raised a finger. "Just one second. I got something for you."

"Okay."

Joe pulled himself up onto the bow and opened the front door. "Babe – Frank's leaving for Seattle, come and say goodbye."

Vanessa was hovering by the door, so they passed on the steps. She gave Joe's hand a squeeze as he inched past and he returned a watery smile.

Joe ran to his bedroom, to the wooden box on his bedside cabinet and lifted the lid to tip its contents out onto the bed. Sifting through, he found what he wanted and snatched it up before returning to the walkway.

He stepped up to find Vanessa hugging his brother, Frank's free arm about her waist. "Hey, no need to take advantage of the situation!"

Frank came up for air laughing. "I kinda assumed that when you said you had something for me that it was Vanessa! You did send her up here."

Vanessa swatted Frank with the back of her hand. "Brat!" she said. "I'm gonna miss you, big brother."

Frank regarded her with a goofy grin. It was the first time Vanessa had ever called him that and he obviously liked it. "Me too."

"Here," Joe said and slipped a gold chained pendant about Frank's neck.

Frank latched onto the small disk, and looked down to see that it was a Saint Christopher. "Isn't this the one Iola gave you?" he asked, perplexed. He turned it over to find _Iola 4 Joe _etched on the back. "You can't give me this, I won't accept it."

"I'm not givin' it to you, not permanently, anyways. Just for the trip, so you'll be safe, since I can't be there to keep my eye on you." Joe slipped his arm around Vanessa's shoulders and she curled her arms around his torso.

Frank slowly grinned and took another look at the pendant before tucking it inside his shirt. "Joe, you're really something, do you know that, bro?"

"Aw man! Are you gonna try grabbing my butt again."

Frank glanced back at the marina's entrance and Joe jumped in before his brother could say anything. "I know, you've gotta go. Get gone, bro."

Smiling, Frank leaned forward and offered his hand out. Joe grasped it for a second, and then Frank limped away. When he reached the entrance, he turned and circled a wave, before moving out of sight around the corner.

**STAY TUNED FOR THE EPILOGUE IN A FEW DAYS**


	33. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Frank had been searched and led through so many doors that he knew he'd never be able to find his way out unaccompanied if left to his own devices. But here he was and in front of the thick Perspex window in a hard plastic chair, waiting, his arms folded across his chest protectively. He looked down and realised how his body language appeared, so he dropped his hands into a more relaxed posture in his lap and uncrossed his legs.

He'd lied again to his family about where he was going…well…not entirely. He was going to Seattle and for the reason he'd said, but not for another couple of days. Instead, he'd taken a slight detour to Washington; he needed to see someone and it had taken quite some negotiating to get it agreed. He'd eventually sunk to the level of reminding Arthur Gray: _"You owe me and you owe my family…__big time__, pal"! _Frank was here to face up to the monster who'd caused all this mess, to put his nightmares to rest – he'd come to see the leader of the Pandora Posse.

A door opened and a man was led through, flanked by guards, a man Frank recognised, especially his eyes. They'd almost been his final vision before his heart had been shocked into stopping and he'd 'died'. The image of those blue orbs seared into his psyche as surely any of his family's – a memory tattoo.

The man's arms were cuffed at his waist, a chain then leading to his ankles, which were also shackled, giving him a stumbling gait as he moved. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit and anonymous black boots, his hair closely cropped. Any individuality had been effectively shaved and stripped away. His appearance was a great leveller.

When the man saw Frank, he pulled up for a moment and his eyebrows sank – obviously no one had told him who'd come to visit. Resettling his face into an arrogant smile, he allowed the guards to propel him forward into the chair opposite.

The guards retreated back to the door.

Frank and the man gazed at one another for some time before either spoke.

"So, Frank Hardy has deemed it necessary to come and see me? I thought I'd seen the last of you – but of course, I thought I'd seen the last of you back on that roof, but you fooled us, didn't you?" His voice had a mechanical quality to it, due to the amplifier that enabled him to speak through the window and out through two speakers.

Frank didn't react.

"You broke our little agreement Mr Hardy, and that's a real problem for you, your family and Miss Drew. Have you come to beg for their lives?"

"_Who does this guy think he is?"_ He was trying so hard to be threatening, to make up mileage, but it was clear he was more intimidated by Frank than Frank was of him. His whole carefully rehearsed speech, which should have been so menacing, sounded trite and tired. His conceit was wasted; he'd given himself away with his micro expression as he'd entered the room and the way he'd pulled back for an instant against the guards holding him.

It was time to redress the balance, to play him at his own game, and play it better.

Frank dropped his gaze for a beat and sensed the creeping darkness, he didn't fight it this time, he welcomed it in. When he raised his eyes again, there was no spark, just an emotionless and icy coldness that trapped the man's stare as tightly as any shackles, ensnaring him in his chair. Frank leaned forward and started to speak, clearly, so the man wouldn't have to strain to hear:

"You cuffed my hands behind my back and yet I knocked you to the ground, and then I knocked the next guy on his ass, then the third. In fact, the only way you were able to bring me down in the end was to use a car, and that was only through dumb luck. You tried to beat me into submission, electrocute me to death, emotionally break me down…but I survived, came back. Frank tipped his head. "After all that, do you seriously believe your words hold any power? If they did, do you think I'd even be here?"

The man's pupils were pinpricks, trying to block out the light, trying to lessen the impact of those eyes, trying to release himself, but unable to look away. They were hypnotic, magnetic, unblinking, burning an image into his brain just as surely as his own were in Frank's.

Frank continued: "If you ever do get out of here, which I seriously doubt, feel free to look me up. But I wouldn't advise it, because if I ever set eyes on you again, if you ever cross my path, I'll kill you. Not your family, nor your friends, or your girl…just you."

There was a drawn-out silence, which did nothing to clear the heavy air and Frank leaned in even closer, peering at the man as though he was checking out an exhibit in a zoo. _"Don't feed the animal!"_

The man's Adam's apple bobbed and he started to draw back as Frank's face loomed closer. Then Frank snapped his fist out and rapped the Perspex, hard, causing the man to physically jump, so high, so violently, that his chair tipped back and he had to throw himself forward to prevent himself losing his balance entirely. The visual lock finally broken, he looked over his shoulder at the guards, wordlessly begging them to take him back to his room.

The guards smirked.

Frank blinked, the spark returned, and he kinked his mouth up into its new half smile. He thought of how ridiculous he'd allowed things to become. Why had become so tied up in knots over the pathetic creature seated in front of him? A someone who was obviously floundering without his team and his case of torture toys – he could barely even stay in a chair! To coin an all too commonly used term: _he just wasn't worth the effort_.

Raising himself, Frank went to the door and rapped with his stick to be let out. It was time to deal with the important issues in his life and leave the lesser ones far behind. His dad was dead right – this thing was going to make him all the stronger. And Joe was right about something else – a little bit of crazy never did anyone any harm.

_Man! He was suddenly hungry, he seriously fancied a massive burger. Could just demolish one…with cheese…and bacon…and a whole heap of fries!_

**Acknowledgements **

First and foremost: to Alaina (Red) for being a champ BETA reader and really going to task on all my English-isms. Her direct, straight talking was very VERY much appreciated from this particular writer. This story is dedicated to her.

Secondly, thank you to Mat for giving each and every chapter a read through and then being so honest in his opinions – and especially with making sure poor Frank and Joe were man enough in Boosting. He ensured the boys didn't sink into Wussland.

Thirdly, back to Alaina again for allowing me to carve her dog, Rebel into a nearly deaf, loyal companion for Con Riley, who, as a supporting character in the books, is practically one-dimensional. I like Rebel and Con and that's not the last you'll read of of them!

Fourthly, thank you to Susan and Paul (my niece and nephew) for having the patience to sit and answer every stupid question I threw at them about motorbikes (or motorcycles are you American's call them). Thank goodness I have some real bikers in the family, because I don't have a clue how you operate one!

Last, but by no means least…to all you good readers who were kind enough to write such interesting, entertaining and sometimes downright hilarious feedback, which was definitely heart and brain food for me. You always have the power to amaze me with your powers of observation.

The next story, Flashpoint, is being written.

4


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